


Contraindications

by AntaresPromise



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assasin Yuuri, Illustrated, M/M, Mercenaries, Science Fiction, doctor Victor, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresPromise/pseuds/AntaresPromise
Summary: Unbeknownst to Victor, the breathtaking stranger in the coffee shop happened to be the most revered assassin in the mercenary world.





	1. Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s note:**  
>  This is the story I have been writing for the past five months for the [live and love big bang](https://liveloveyoibang.tumblr.com/). The artwork is by [sleepfortress](https://sleepyfortress.tumblr.com/), thank you for such an amazing collaboration!
> 
> I’d like to thank [Paint with words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_with_words/pseuds/paint_with_words) for being my test reader and cheering me on along the way. 
> 
> This story is complete & will update weekly on Wednesday evenings.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

 

They met in the rain, not amidst a tumultuous storm like in romance movies, but in the hot, clammy, never-ending drizzle of late August.

White dress shirt soaked, he paid no attention. Victor’s rumpled short whitecoat signifying his status (or lack thereof) as a medical student draped over his crossbody bag. Lips cracked and dry, eyelids heavy, the overnight shift at the emergency department seemed to drag on for eternity.

Victor discarded the newspaper - his feeble attempt for a makeshift umbrella. Silver locks plastered to his head.

The curtain of rain shielded his stinging eyes from the world.

The way the patient’s chest recoiling as he pushed down over and over still imprinted on his palm.

On medical dramas, patients came back to life, in reality, they didn’t.

For the first time, his chest compressions were not performed on an old faded manikin, but over a real heart quivering in the wrong rhythm. At the rate of one hundred times per minute, his arms fatigued faster than he anticipated as sweat rolled down his cheek thirty minutes earlier.

For the first time, Victor witnessed a life slipping through his own fingers.

_There’s nothing else we could have done._

He stepped onto a bridge overlooking a lake without an edge, its surface decorated by thousands of fine crisscrosses.

A car splashed a warm wave onto his shins on the narrow walkway between the railing of the bridge and the road.

He paused, facing the lake without an edge, knuckles white from gripping cool white metal. His stomach gnawed, as if eroding a hole from within. _My patient was only forty seven._

'Find something', the attending physician in the Emergency Department instructed him to rummage through the patient’s possessions for any contact information of family member or ID. The photo of a little girl with a wide grin now forever etched onto the inside of his eyelids, the texture of the patient's wallet still fresh beneath his fingertips.

Victor wiped his eyes, glad nobody walked down this narrow path this early in the morning.

Raindrops stopped over his head.

Through his wet starlight locks, he met the dark, hollow, eyes of a stranger clad in black for the first time.

Victor’s lips parted, “I’m sorry.” His pressed his stomach against the railing letting the stranger pass.

“It’s alright.” Rain started again as the stranger walked past by.

Unbeknownst to him, four years later they came back to this very place and exchanged vows.

* * *

 

The dark-haired stranger always sat at the same place in Leo’s coffee shop, a single table at the furthest corner by the window.

Victor studied there every weekend in the mornings. He brought a thick stack of index cards filled with names of anatomical parts, disease pathophysiology, and medications. Sometimes, he stayed for eight to nine hours per day. Three to four empty coffee cups dotted the scarce space amidst his notes at the end of the day.

In between moments of rest, he couldn’t help but steal glances dark-haired stranger who walked past him in the rain.

Sometimes his stranger’s brows furled in concentration while glancing at the phone, as if the fate of the world depended on it. Other times, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days as he sipped the steaming cup of black coffee, the only thing he ever ordered.

He also only ever wore black or white.

 _Maybe he is a private investigator, or a writer looking for inspiration, or a consultant who traveled for business?_ Victor would have never have guessed assassin, or the infamous mercenary whose alias made every mafia boss quiver in their shoes, Eleven.

After a five-hour study session, weeks since they first met, Victor gathered enough courage to wait for the mysterious stranger to look up.

Victor flashed the most brilliant smile.

The stranger nodded, corners of his lips curled up a little.

 _Okay, that was a start,_ Victor had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot for the next five minutes before burying his face in the anatomy textbook again. _Victor Feltsman, you are pathetic._

This routine went on for the next month until a rainy Saturday morning in September.

Victor turned towards the cobblestone pathway leading to the coffee shop, a secret sanctuary hidden from the tourists.

The stranger’s back slumped against the brick wall in the narrow alley, panting, threads of cold sweat dotted his forehead.

Raindrops stopped over the stranger's head.

“Are you alright?” Victor’s face was only inches away, shielding the stranger from the rain with a grey umbrella.

“I think so, thanks.”

“You’re hurt, you need to go see a doctor.”

“I can’t,” the beautiful stranger shook his head, the bruise on his chin crusted with dried blood showing through his loosening navy scarf.

Victor’s blue-green eyes fell upon his right hand, wrapped in messy bandages revealing a large gash. _He’ll need stitches._

Without thinking, Victor reached across for his wrist, “Please, allow me then, my name is Victor by the way.”

Their bare skin touched for the first time.

“Yuuri,” the stranger hesitated for a second, then followed him, sensing Victor wouldn’t take no for an answer.

* * *

Victor flicked on the switch illuminating his narrow apartment with few possessions. _Thankfully I cleaned up because Makka got into the garbage yesterday again._ He let out a secret sigh of relief. A twinge of guilt coursing through his stomach, _I wish I could be home more._ Makkachin _doesn’t like the lighting._

The brown poodle leaped from the couch, wagging her tail as she greeted Yuuri, who flashed a rare sad smile while scratching her head.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Victor opened his drawer next to the glass desk by the window-lined by a row of succulents.

Yuuri settled on the couch, Makkachin’s chin on his leg.

“I’m a medical student if you can’t already tell, and yes I have done this before,” _on banana peels_ , Victor added in silence, _but I did a pretty darn good job._

“I figured that much, from your index cards,” from heavy eyelids, Yuuri replied, “I trust you, even if this is your first time.”

“Thanks, let’s clean the wound first,” Victor stood by the sink and tested the temperature of the water before holding Yuuri’s hand over the stream. Dried blood and dirt swirled until the lukewarm water ran clear.

Next, Victor laid out his extra suture kit, and drew the lidocaine with a syringe, “the school gave us these for practice,” he explained. “Are you going to watch, or would you rather look out of the window?” Victor smiled.

Yuuri shrugged, “it doesn’t bother me.”

“Alright, this is going to be the worst part, as soon as the numbing medication is in you won’t feel anything. A pinch and a burn,” Victor injected the anesthetic on either side of the fresh wound.

Yuuri didn’t wince or blink twice.

With his green sterile gloves on, Victor began throwing knots. His eyes narrowed with concentration. _Skin is much thicker and harder to penetrate than the banana peel._

Yuuri watched in silence, resting his chin on the other palm.

Victor would never have guessed, Yuuri knew anatomy as well he did, though for the opposite reason. Victor learned it to save lives. Yuuri learned it to extinguished lives in the swiftest, most efficient and clean manner; with a flick of the wrist and a twist, with just enough force at just the right location. Quick, painless, spotless, with some degree of dignity, this was the way agent Eleven operated. He refused to torture, even if the targets deserved it. Yuuri too possessed a stash of sterile gloves.

Victor threw knots, each quicker than the one before, until fifteen neat stitches approximated Yuuri’s wound, “all done.” Victor grinned, admiring his handy work.

Then he realized Yuuri fell asleep with his face resting on the table.

Peeling the gloves from his hands, Victor watched Yuuri’s eyes dart beneath closed lids. _He must be exhausted._

He covered Yuuri’s shoulders with a beige coat.

After cleaning up the bloodied gauze and ripped packets of suture, Victor carried Yuuri for the first time, with one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulder. Yuuri’s lithe form had been much heavier than Victor anticipated.

He lowered the beautiful stranger he admired from the distance onto the couch, heart thumping against his chest. He never looked at Yuuri from this close before.

Everything about Yuuri drew Victor to him, like a moth to the flames. _Who are you?_

 _I wish you'd tell me some day._ Victor lowered him onto the soft surface.

Makkachin hopped onto the couch and curled up next to Yuuri’s feet.

Victor lifted a finger to trace Yuuri’s outline and the violet bruise on the side of his chin. His silver locks fell across Yuuri’s forehead.

Startled, Victor leaped back.

Yuuri stirred.

 _I should get back to studying._ Victor settled on the ground, his back against the couch Yuuri slept on and turned on the tablet.

 _Side effects, duration of action, contraindications,_ he scrolled through the slides from a pharmacology lecture. _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,_ he cringed, _how am I supposed to remember all of this._ He rubbed his eyes and sighed.

To his surprise, with a hint of Yuuri’s warmth at his back, the lecture material sunk in.

* * *

  
Victor didn’t know when studying in the cafe across from Yuuri every weekend became a routine.

Yuuri didn’t say much.

Sometimes he picked up Victor’s index cards, with an amused look and quizzed him with the content of the back.

Studying hours at a time became tolerable.

On one chilly October morning, Victor couldn’t help but ask, “Yuuri, what do you do?”

“If I tell you, I’m going to have to kill you,” Yuuri flashed a rare half-smile with a hint of mischief.

“Really?” _so he is capable of joking._

Yuuri’s dark eyes fell, “Victor, the less you know about me, the better.”

“I’m sorry. Forget that I ever asked.”

* * *

  
One day Yuuri stopped coming.

Victor kicked himself inside because he never asked for a way to reach Yuuri, a phone number, an email address. He assumed Yuuri would be here.

Victor waited until Leo, the owner with long brown locks and a carefree grin, began to place every other chair but Victor’s face down onto the tables.

Before he left, Leo handed him a note with an apologetic smile.

Victor’s traced over the place Yuuri’s hand had been. Because in Yuuri’s familiar yet unfamiliar handwriting, he bid Victor farewell.

**Dear Victor,**

**Thank you, for everything.**

**You are going to be a splendid doctor someday.**

**-Yuuri**

* * *

Months flew by, Victor couldn’t bring himself back to Leo’s coffee shop. Sometimes stole glances into windows that spanned from floor to the ceiling, hoping that Yuuri waited at his usual spot with a steaming cup of black coffee.

Yuuri’s table remained empty.

His classmate Chris advised him to see other people. Victor flashed a sad smile didn’t reply.

 _It’s stupid and one-sided_ , he repeated in his mind, _we were friendly acquaintances at best, if even that. I should forget about him, and forget that we ever met._ Every rational part of him protested, yet the deepest part of him refused to listen.

He kept himself busy. With every spare moment, he returned to the dojo, where he practiced martial arts all of his life before medical school crept in and took over. He read books. He ran along the boardwalk by the ocean, down the narrow path where he walked by Yuuri for the first time in the tempest of August rain.

_Chris, you are right, I am a stupid, hopeless romantic._

* * *

After the briefest spring, lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by rumbling thunder that vibrated through the floor of Victor’s tiny one bedroom apartment.

Makkachin whined and curled up next to him, “it’s alright,” his face buried into her fur.

The doorbell rang.

He wasn’t expecting any visitors.

Victor opened the door, Makkachin at his heel.

His blue-green eyes widened.

_Yuuri._

Yuuri forgot his umbrella this time.

Dark hair dripping, the wound Victor sutured now nothing but a neat, faded scar.

“Yuuri, you’ll catch a cold, let me grab a towel -” Victor’s voice trailed off, trying to swallow the lump at his throat.

 _I want you,_ Yuuri’s eyes said. He tugged the front of Victor’s white sweater and kissed him.

 _Yuuri, how could you,_ _masquerading out of my life then all of a sudden coming back as nothing happened?_ Victor couldn’t think. All rational sides of him slipped away like raindrops falling into the infinite ocean. Victor clung onto Yuuri, stealing breaths from his lungs as if tomorrow the world would end.

“Victor, I’m so sorry,” Yuuri whispered, “for leaving without saying goodbye, I can leave if -“

“Shut up,” Victor bit his bottom lip, clutching the black fabric of Yuuri’s shirt, pulling it taut.

_Stay._

Wet droplets from Yuuri’s hair rolled Victor’s cheek.

He picked up Yuuri for the second time.

Victor lowered Yuuri’s back onto the coffee table. A stack of index cards fluttered to the ground.

Makkachin trotted into the bedroom as if knowing that Victor wanted time alone. _I love you so much Makka, my girl,_ warmth swelled through Victor's chest.

“Can I?” Victor leaned over Yuuri, parting his leg with one knee, reaching for the first button. _No matter how I try, I could not resist you._

Heat rose on Yuuri’s cheeks, gaze transfixed on the ground, he nodded.

Leaning down, with one hand next to Yuuri’s shoulder, Victor closed the distance between, unraveling the buttons one by one, revealing a sliver of Yuuri’s sculpted chest. His fingertips traced over the scars, new and old. He kissed the one above Yuuri’s heart. _Who did this?_

Victor parted Yuuri’s lips with his tongue, peeling back the rest of the wet black fabric.

Yuuri snaked his arms slipped through Victor’s pale white sweater, sending shivers down his spine. Interrupting the kiss for the briefest moment, Yuuri slid the sweater over his head.

Their foreheads touched, Victor’s soft starlight locks fell across Yuuri’s dark eyes, framing his face, creating a world where only two of them belonged.

Victor’s warm weight over Yuuri, raining kisses over his throat, the place next to his fluttering pulse. Yuuri threw his head back as Victor left his mark on the place above his heart. Lightning illuminated the dim light through the kitchen window, followed by deafening thunder vibrating through both of them.

Yuuri stroked the side of his face, “do you have a -”

“Yes,” Victor propped himself up, the sensation of Yuuri’s lips lingering. He walked to his bedroom and opened the drawer under the bed, unable to remember the last time he had been with someone.

Before reaching for Yuuri’s belt, Victor asked for permission one last time, his voice trembled, “you sure this is what you want?”

Yuuri bit his lip, red and a little swollen, he whispered, “yes.”

Victor sunk his teeth into the gold plastic wrapper.

* * *

They woke up on the floor the next morning.

Victor blushed as he stole a glance at Yuuri, naked and sleeping next to him. Pulling a blanket over both of them, he watched Yuuri’s peaceful face and even breaths. He traced the spot inside Yuuri's left elbow, a darkened birthmark shaped like a leaf. 

Unbeknownst to him, the only time Yuuri could sleep free from nightmares was in his arms.

 _I don’t want this to end,_ Victor’s heart raced. _I don’t want you to leave._

Yuuri’s beautiful dark eyes opened a slit, next to Victor’s bare chest, “morning,” a smile, the most carefree one Victor had ever seen.

“Morning,” Victor wrapped a protective arm around him, burying his hand in Yuuri’s mussed dark locks.

Yuuri glanced over Victor’s shoulder for his bearing, “we ended up on the floor,” he grinned, picking up one of Victor’s index cards scattered on the grey rug with rumpled corner and read the word on top scribbled in midnight blue, “contraindications,” Yuuri began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Victor glanced at the card hovering over them.

“Nothing.”

“Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll start a bath, you go first. I’ll make breakfast,” Victor kissed the top of Yuuri’s head.

“Five more minutes?” Yuuri buried his face in Victor’s neck, “like this.”

“Okay.”

 


	2. Forbidden Hope

****Two years flew by since Victor studied across from Yuuri in the coffee shop.  
  
“You didn’t swear this much four months ago,” Yuuri leaned against Victor’s firm chest in the bathtub and laughed.  
  
“Blame residency,” Victor grumbled, “there’s definitely some days I wanted to throw the pager against the wall as hard as I could,” he shuddered, “it would twitch one way when one nurse pages, and another way when multiple nurses page at the same time.” He draped an arm across Yuuri’s chest, “and because you were gone for so long.” His voice softened. _I wish you didn’t leave for months at a time._  
  
“But I always come home right?” Yuuri finished Victor’s thought, their fingers interlaced, “I picked up some interesting skills this time.”  
  
“Surprise me,” Victor buried his face at the nape of Yuuri’s neck.  
  
“You’ll see in the morning.”

* * *

  
Victor woke up to the aroma out of this world and Yuuri’s side of the bed empty. He stretched. _I am so glad it’s Saturday. I must have slept in._

The word ‘resident’ originated from the fact doctors-in-training used to reside in the hospital. Victor couldn’t sleep in even if he tried. His body woke up at 6 a.m. daily. Sometimes he questioned the need to set an alarm. Three weeks of working in the ICU with every fourth day being in the hospital for over thirty hours drained him.  
  
However, all of the fatigue dissipated when Yuuri came home.     
  
Victor shook his head and grinned as he found Eleven, the deadliest mercenary dreaded by every mafia the same way mice feared snowy owls, stood in the kitchen in one of his soft, oversized T-shirts with a hole on the sleeve.  
  
Yuuri’s eyes transfixed on the magnetic timer attached to the fridge. He swooped in to muffle the beeping, afraid to wake Victor.  
  
“Morning,” Victor attempted to flatten his hair.  
  
“Morning,” Yuuri smiled as he began to scrape the excess almond flour from mixing bowl, “I made coffee, I know you won’t feel alive without it.”  
  
“You know me too well,” Victor helped himself to a cup, as life flooded back, “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had!”  
  
“I picked out the beans myself,” Yuuri wiped the counter, “it was after one of my missions in South America, “I had some downtime.”  
  
_He looked more like a barista than an assassin._ Victor fantasized for a moment of Yuuri being just Yuuri ordinary, with a normal job.  
  
“Alright, now try this,” with precision, Yuuri dispensed a swirl of filling between two pieces of macaron shells. He glanced at Victor with anticipation.  
  
“Amazing!”  
  
“Where did you learn to make macarons like this?”  
  
Yuuri laughed.  
  
“You are going to say ‘don’t ask the question you don’t want to know the answer to,” Victor imagined Yuuri in the back of a tiny unremarkable coffee shop with the sign fading from years of braving the rain, where the grandmother of a infamous criminal hobbled across the mosaic floor, and scoffed instructions to make sure Yuuri whisked the flour the right number of times.  
  
“Pretty much. I’m going to bring some to a friend of mine later,” Yuuri beamed packing the robin egg colored bites of perfection into a box.  
  
“Who’s that?” Victor pulled on gloves and turned on the tap to start washing dishes.  
  
“Surprised that I have friends?” Yuuri teased him.  
  
“No, well, yes,” Victor scrubbed the baking pan.  
  
Yuuri chuckled, “having anything to do with me comes with risks, but Phichit can take care of himself.”  
  
“What does he do?”  
  
“He’s criminal profiler and independent contractor for the Secret Services,” Yuuri grinned, then shuddered, “he works on some of the worst cases. Also, he is the keeper of my box.”  
  
“Your box?” Victor sipped coffee after another bite of the macaron.  
  
“You know how high the mortality rate is in my line of work,” Yuuri joined him at the kitchen counter on a barstool, “as a part of our initiation, we choose a keeper of our boxes, which contained personal items and letters to be sent to the loved ones in case we lost our lives,” he finished in the matter-of-fact, practical manner, “plans detailing our funeral, that kind of thing.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Victor’s eyes fell, bittersweetness lingered on his lips.  
  
“I don’t think of it as something morbid," Yuuri shrugged, handing another macaron to Victor, "it's the proof that we lived.” 

Victor didn't answer.  _Of course, Yuuri didn’t have any real IDs, or any knowledge of his family, or even a last name_ .   
  
“Sorry, let’s not talk about sad things today,” Yuuri slipped off the barstool and wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders from behind.  
  
“How about spending the day like ordinary people?” Victor turned, their noses almost touching.  
  
“Take me sightseeing?” Yuuri tilted his head.  
  
“Of course.”

* * *

  
“Yuuri!” Phichit opened the door of his apartment with high ceilings, “you look good, this is the happiest I have seen you. Victor Feltsman, he really must be something else.”  
  
Yuuri never intended to tell Phichit about Victor, but nothing escaped those calculating dark eyes beneath the thick brows. Yuuri left his black sneakers at the door, “and you can’t help yourself but to read people.” He handed the bag containing macarons, “for you.”  
  
Phichit’s smile lit the room, “I love it when you make desert!”  
  
“Who knows, someday maybe I’ll even have my own cafe,” Yuuri’s lips pressed together.  
  
Phichit lived on the penthouse of a highrise downtown with windows spanning from the floor to the high ceilings. His skills warranted a handsome amount in exchange, which he spent on interior design.  
  
Bookshelves with a modern twist filled most of the room, including a circular compartment where a bonsai tree fitted perfectly.  
  
Yuuri always marveled at Phichit’s taste in decor. Across from the art nouveau shelves, his amused gaze fell upon the multicolored maze his friend built for his hamsters. _Those must be the luckiest hamsters in the world._

Phichit was the only person working for the government Yuuri interacted with.   
  
“Any news on the Nikiforov case?” Yuuri sat on the grey leather couch while Phichit boiled water for tea.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Phichit’s thick eyebrows furled, “I’m sorry, I recently lost two of our most promising leads,” he sighed, “whatever it is, the enemy is much bigger than we thought. We have never encountered a case of organized crime in this scale. After all these years, the location of their operations is still unknown, what about from your end?”  
  
“Nothing,” Yuuri rubbed his eyes, “though we do have someone undercover for the past three years. He goes by the name Seung-gil.”  
  
“In your world, sometimes not knowing is a blessing,” Phichit finished his sentence, “I know how difficult this must be for you, after everything the Nikiforov family took from you.”  
  
Yuuri gritted his teeth and rubbed the spot at the back of his neck with a scar, “maybe not having any memories from before I was ten is a good thing. Maybe there are things I don’t want to remember.”  
  
“So, now that Victor is in your life, are you ever going to stop?” Phichit bit into the macaron, then his eyes widened, “Yuuri, these are amazing!”  
  
“Thank you,” Yuuri knew by ‘stop’, Phichit meant retiring from the mercenary world, his fist tightened, “someday.”  
  
“Even if the Nikiforov case never gets resolved?” Phichit watched his friend’s every expression.  
  
“Maybe, but I can’t let it go right now. And Phichit, how do you stay the way you are with all of the cases you investigated?” Yuuri always wanted to ask. Phichit dealt with the worst of humanity, including gruesome murders that even Yuuri, a professional assassin, couldn’t stomach.  
  
Phichit laughed, “I come home, meditate, and look at my bonsai?” His expression serious again, “someone had to bring them to justice.”

* * *

The weight of the ring inside Victor’s pocket now familiar, because he carried it for months. His graduation from residency now only weeks away.  
  
_He pondered deep into the night how and where to ask. Maybe in Iceland, in front of the majestic waterfall? Or Maui, on top of Mauna Kea, one of the best places in the world to watch the stars. When would we be able to actually go on vacation like ordinary people?_  
  
Victor tried to give the ring to Yuuri in Barcelona once, but Yuuri had to catch the next plane for an emergent mission. After a brisk kiss in the cab, Yuuri turned into Eleven and vanished.  
  
A few scattered texts from various unknown numbers. Snail mail with Yuuri’s scrawl ending with ‘thinking of you.’

Months passed, Victor slept on an empty bed.

He no longer needed to wake up at the crack of dawn.

His first job as attending physician was in a clinic in the suburbs with his classmate Chris with the sign at the front door ‘Internal Medicine, Dr. Victor Feltsman & Dr. Christophe Giacometti’.  
  
At last, Yuuri knocked on his door unannounced on a stormy afternoon in July.  
  
Makkachin leaped on him.  
  
“Victor! Celestino granted my request,” Yuuri ruffled Makachin’s fur, beaming, “I am retiring —“  
  
Victor pulled him into a tight embrace, “tell me that one more time.”  
  
Yuuri squeezed his waist, “I am no longer a mercenary.”  
  
“I’m so glad, Yuuri, you have no idea how long I dreamed of this moment,” Victor pulled back, their forehead pressed together, he cupped Yuuri’s cheeks. He remembered the day Yuuri told him about his real profession. Yuuri wrung his hands and voided eye contact. His lips parted when Victor held him close and said, 'do you not think I figured that out from the nightmares you used to have, and I don't care.'    
  
“Now let’s go,” Yuuri tugged on his wrist.  
  
“Where? It’s raining —“ Victor’s protest feeble.  
  
“I have something for you,” Yuuri grabbed Victor’s grey umbrella from the closet.  
  
He led Victor in the direction of the hospital and stopped on the middle of the bridge overlooking the lake without the edge.  
  
_This is the first place we met,_ Victor’s heart pounded, _you remembered, after all this time._  
  
“Hold this with your right hand,” Yuuri passed the umbrella.  
  
Victor inhaled and held his breath and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The pulse at his neck fluttering.  
  
Cheeks burning, Yuuri fished for something from his pocket, he stumbled upon his words, "thank you for everything, for not caring about my past and present."

Eleven almost never lose his composure except for now, “Victor Feltsman, will you wear this for me?”  
  
Victor clasped his lips and inhaled sharply as the umbrella toppled over the bridge. Time paused and the rest of the world dissolved into irrelevance.  
  
A golden ring gleamed in the middle of Yuuri’s palm.  
  
Victor nodded, his lips trembled, warmth spread through his body as rain plastered his wet silver locks to his forehead.  
  
He gave Yuuri his hand.

The ring slid on perfectly, he wondered when Yuuri measured his finger while he slept. _How fitting_ , Victor smiled, _this is just like you, simple, practical without elaborate gestures, candlelit dinners or bathtubs filled with rose petals. I wouldn’t want it any other way._  
  
Victor brought the ring to his lip and kissed it.  
  
“I’m not a romantic,” Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck, “I don’t believe in love at first sight. That’s for silly romance movies.”  
  
“I know,” Victor whispered between kisses mixed with the rain.  
  
“But the truth is, it took five seconds,” Yuuri glanced shyly at the lake, “for you to become the first person I wanted to hold on to.  I’ll never forget that day when you walked by in the rain, it was right here. This is irrational, I know. I thought if I ever asked for your hand, this would be the place.”  
  
Victor’s vision blurred as hot drops poured out of his eyes, becoming one with the rain, “maybe some things are meant to be. You can’t escape no matter how hard you try.” Yuuri tucked a wet silver strand behind his ear.  
  
“Let’s go home,” Yuuri squeezed his hand.  
  
“Wait,” Victor’s fingers curled around the familiar weight of the ring inside his pocket, “I have been ready to give you this for months.” He wiped his cheek.  
  
Yuuri’s lips parted, his eyes lit up the same way when Phichit entered a room.  
  
“Promise you’ll never kill again?” Victor lifted his hand.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“And Yuuri, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

* * *

“No, you can fucking cut me off like that without signaling,” Victor gritted his teeth, “you piece of -”  
  
“Want me to drive?” Yuuri cast a sideways glance from the passe and passenger seat, amused at the only scenario where the calm and collected Dr. Victor Feltsman ever raged.  
  
“Absolutely not, you drive like a madman.”  
  
“I have never been pulled over or scratched my personal car for that matter.”  
  
“That’s because the cops can’t catch you.”  
  
“You know me too well,” Yuuri grinned, then fiddled with his hand.  
  
“Don’t be nervous, my dad will like you,” Victor turned to him at the red light. He pressed the gas pedal.  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
Victor’s road rage dissipated as the pine forest replaced houses on either side of the highway. The sun painted the sky orange over the ocean on the other side.  
  
He loved this drive.

His father owned an Inn along the coastline in a small town. The summers were the busiest. He remembered helping prepare for breakfast at four a.m. during the summer break of high school. His father didn’t like the city, they hiked together in the national park, strolled along the forest edge studded by fireflies like fallen stars. _I can’t wait to show Yuuri the lighthouse, the fireflies, and dad’s Inn._  
  
A pang of sadness struck him, _I can’t imagine what your childhood must’ve been like._ Victor recalled Yuuri's face straining as he told him he had no memories from before the age of ten. Yuuri only had flashbacks of sterile white walls, wheels of a gurney and always having an IV.  
  
Yuuri’s head rested against the window, his eyes shut, his face peaceful.  
  
_Keep on sleeping my dearest,_ the corner of Victor’s lips curled up. Only Victor saw Yuuri shuddering in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat from the nightmares. Victor would hold him without a word, kiss the top of his head, and caress his back until his breathing slowed. _Somebody had to do the dirty job. I wish it didn’t have to be you. Even though you had to fight against the worst part of humanity. You’ve done more than enough._

* * *

“What do you do, Yuuri?” Yakov passed the basket of bread across the table with a plain off-white cloth. His house overlooked the endless ocean.  
  
“I am in the process of opening a coffee shop,” Yuuri accepted the basket graciously.  
  
“Oh good, this one is perpetually addicted to coffee,” Yakov’s chin pointed towards Victor and chuckled.  
  
As the sun vanished over the horizon and the sky changed from gold, orange, coral then deep violet, the tension in Yuuri’s shoulders disappeared.  
  
Victor smiled as he watched the two most important people in his life bonded over dessert, pinching himself as a reminder that this is real.

* * *

  
“I’m happy for you,” Yakov hugged Victor at the door, “congratulations.”  
  
“Take good care of him,” he patted Yuuri on the back, “he’s lucky to have you.”  
  
“No, I’m the lucky one," Yuuri shook the old man's hand and smiled.   


* * *

**Author's Note:**

Thanks for reading! (okay, so I posted this earlier than planned because I have today off). 

Let me know if you enjoyed it! 

I wanted to portray their relationship as strong and without any doubts. 

Much love,

-Antares 

[tumblr ](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/)


	3. Beating Heart of the Mercenary World

“I wanted to show you these,” Yuuri’s beamed, spreading the layout sketches of his coffee shop, “of course I consulted Phichit for the interior design.”  
  
“Amazing,” Victor leaned over the table of the office of their new apartment. The pencil drawings of the storefront decorated with flower boxes couldn’t have come from an untrained artist, “you can draw too, is there anything you are not good at?”  
  
Yuuri chuckled, “too many, like keeping in touch.”  
  
“You still have to make that up to me,” Victor raised an eyebrow.” With one hand resting on Yuuri’s shoulder, he flipped through the rest of the sketches of the minimalist wooden tables with light bulbs encased by wires suspended from the ceiling and the placement of the chalkboard where he would write the menu. He picked up the last sketch of a coastline with a castle in the distance amidst cherry blossom.  
  
“That’s everything I remember, you know, before -“  
  
_Before they took you,_ Victor finished Yuuri’s sentence. He squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder, “we can search for that place if you want.”  
  
Yuuri nodded, pursing his lips, “one day when I’m ready”.  
  
Makkachin trotted inside, and rested her front paws on Yuuri’s lap, her tail creating a whirlpool of wind. Yuuri’s lips curled skyward as he scratched her chin and opened the drawer.  
  
“You keep treats in here?” Exasperated, Victor rubbed his forehead,  “you are spoiling her.”  
  
“But how could you say no to a face like that?” Makkachin chewed on a bone shaped biscuit in Yuuri’s hand, leaving crumbs on the ground. Yuuri wiped the wooden floor with a napkin.  
  
“I can’t deal with you two anymore, I’m going to work,” Victor pulled off his old t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve but soft like no other and headed for the bedroom.  
  
Yuuri followed him.  
  
Victor buttoned a lavender dress-shirt as Yuuri fastened the grey tie for him.  
  
With a brisk kiss, Victor left with a briefcase, his white-coat and a brown paper bag containing lunch Yuuri packed for him.    
  
“Have a great day, katsudon for dinner?” Yuuri and Makkachin bid Victor farewell.  
  
“Can’t wait.” 

* * *

  
Sunset painted the sky shades of orange and violet, Victor’s stomach growled while crossing the bridge where they exchanged vows. He smiled and picked up the pace, tie fluttering in the wind.  
  
He ran up the steps two at a time anticipating a bowl of deliciousness out of this world and Yuuri waiting for him. _I am the luckiest guy in the world._ __  
  
He froze because their door was open, on the moss-green doormat a trail of brown congealed blood.  
  
Fingertips numb, stomach twisting in knots, white cold panic sucked the air from his lungs.  
  
He pushed the door and found the apartment in shambles as if someone searched through every crease and crevasse.  
  
Yuuri was gone.  
  
The pencil sketches littered on the ground next to the shattered pots of succulents that once lined the window.  
  
“Makka!” Victor’s heart raced as the color drained from his face. He let out a small sigh as she whined from the bedroom. _Was it for revenge? Who did this? I mean, I should change the question who wouldn’t want to?_ Victor buried his face into her fur as his mind played the worst possibilities. He shook them away.  
  
He couldn’t go to the police with anything related to Yuuri. Hands shaking and almost dropping the phone, he dialed the number of the only friend Yuuri confided in.  
  
“He’s gone,” Victor’s voice trembled, “Yuuri’s gone. Someone took him, the apartment’s a mess, Phichit, there’s blood on the ground, I can’t call the police because it’s Yuuri -“  
  
“I’m coming,” Phichit tried his best to stay calm, “stay put until I get there.”  
  
Victor cursed at himself while clinging to Makkachin. _Victor Feltsman, breathe._ He commanded. He imagined the worst day during residency when he admitted eleven patients overnight where two needed to be transferred to the ICU. He had to have a family meeting overnight while getting paged about another new admission. The overnight intern had a meltdown and he comforted her amidst everything. He shut his eyes, burying his face in Makkachin’s fur. _Go back to that time, stay calm, breathe._  
  
Adrenaline sharpened every one of his senses. Victor surveyed the apartment. One of the splintered legs of the chair buried halfway into the wall. _Who or what could have done that? Shivers ran down his spine._ Yuuri could fight eight people single-handed. Despite Victor’s years of training in martial arts, within ten moves, Yuuri pinned him to the ground. This is orchestrated, he stepped into the bedroom littered by feathers from the pillows someone slashed multiple times. 

* * *

  
“Does Yuuri have any enemies? Never mind, wait that’s a stupid question because the entire underworld wants him dead.” Victor sat on the barstool across from Phichit.  
  
Phichit tapped on the kitchen counter waiting for his laptop to start, “Yuuri is famous in the assassin world, but he is always discrete, precise, quick, and he doesn’t take chances. None of the local mafias dare to mess with him and Cialdini Ltd. Celestino always collected his dues, no debt to them is left unpaid. The worst of the underworld knows better to screw around with free agents like Eleven.  
  
“Anything he was investigating or unresolved?”  
  
Phichit’s fingers stopped tapping, “actually yes, the Nikiforov case.” The sun vanished beneath the horizon. Phichit’s laptop lit up the dim kitchen, “I’m not sure how much Yuuri told you about his past and the reason he doesn’t have any memories before the age of ten.”  
  
“Nikiforov,” Victor bit his lip, “Yuuri said he wanted to let the past and a closed chapter remain the past. He mentioned that name before.” He remembered the loathing and deep pain that name inflicted as he held Yuuri in the darkness when the nightmares came back.  
  
“You know, until he met you, I thought he would never quit being a mercenary until he either dies or delivers the Nikiforov family to justice on a platter,” Phichit froze for a second, “I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling right now, but I think we have no choice but to open this,” he rummaged through his bag.  
  
_Yuuri’s box,_ Victor’s eyes stung, “I understand,” he mustered all of his courage and whispered. ‘ _In the event that I am gone, because of the nature of the job, Phichit would open my box and deliver the instructions and the contents to the list of people. Don’t think of the box as something morbid Victor,’_ Yuuri’s voice a distant echo within his mind, _‘think of it as the proof that I lived’._ Victor turned on the light, his face hidden by the dying sun.  
  
“I refuse to believe Yuuri’s gone,” Phichit opened the metal clasp of the wooden box, “If they wanted him dead, they would finish the job.”  
  
Makkachin curled up into a warm ball against Victor’s feet.  
  
A USB key and letter with Phichit and Victor’s name on it laid within.  
  
Phichit inserted the key into his computer. A video. He hit the play button.  
  
Yuuri wore a black polo shirt, the same thing as the day they exchanged rings, “hey Phichit,” he beamed, “I am not going to say by the time you see this I am already gone,” he chuckled, “though you know the probability of you seeing this is over eighty-five percent, given the mortality rate of my profession.”  
  
Phichit’s rested a hand on Victor’s shoulder, steadying him.  
  
“I always wondered, how you could go sleep at night after going under the skin of the worst of humankind. Do you tell your hamsters when you get home? Take pictures of them with hats and posting it on Instagram? Do you talk to your bonsai tree? Anyways, I’ve come to realize things about the Nikiforov case,” Yuuri’s face serious again, “the consequences of bringing them to justice may carry more harm than good. To have something evil exist in the shadows, keeping the Nightshade mafia in check might be better than shutting down their operations and even worse,” Yuuri glanced at his hands, “Unearthing their atrocities, if not done right could lead to a place of no return, or even starting a war.”  
  
Victor shuddered. _The Nikiforov family, I wonder what they did._ __  
  
“Phichit, I thought I’d never stop being a free agent, until I met him, be happy for me okay?”  
  
Phichit’s grip on Victor’s shoulder tightened.  
  
“You know how I always say don’t ask the question you don’t want to know the answer to? Well, if for any reason you need answers, one of our free agents will help you. His name is Seung-gil Lee. He has been undercover as a member of Nightshade for years. If you are ever a bind, just tell him Eleven sent you, with greetings to Hana,” then Yuuri smirked, “the only problem might be getting close to him because you see, he is too good, he climbed up in the Nightshade’s ranks. But you can handle that right?”  
  
“The Nightshade is rampant in the local area, and in every major city. They are similar to free agents like Yuuri’s organization. They are hired soldiers,” Phichit explained, “with a secret training ground infamous for hosting fights that the rest of the underworld place bets on,” he shuddered, “sometimes these fights are without rules and downright savage.”  
  
“Then let’s go find Seung-gil,” Victor picked up his phone and headed for the bedroom, “give me a minute”.  
  
He dialed Chris’s number.  
  
“Chris, I need you to take my pager and see my patients for a while. I know, the boss isn’t going to be impressed with me. And I am so sorry for all the paperwork,” Victor tried his best to keep his voice steady.  
  
“Are you alright?” Chris never heard Victor’s voice shaken like this.  
  
“I’ll manage.”  
  
“Let me know anything else I can do.” Chris sensed Victor wasn’t ready to answer questions.  
  
“Thank you,” Victor hung up.  
  
Phichit shut his laptop as Victor joined him in the living room, “I know where to find Seung-gil, my source just confirmed.”  
  
“I’m ready,” Victor’s pale brows knitted together.  
  
Phichit stopped at the grey couch, “help me move this.”  
  
Puzzled Victor lifted one end. _Why does he know what is in my apartment better than I do?_  
  
“Aha,” Phichit examined the spaces between the wooden floor. Sinking to one knee, he peeled open a pane and removed two guns from the hidden compartment.  
  
“Did you know there were here?” Victor’s lips parted.  
  
“An educated guess,” Phichit tucked one within his coat pocket and handed the other to Victor, “Yuuri told me you don’t like guns, but knowing his past, he would not risk your safety and would keep them just in case.”  
  
“No wonder the government pays you that much to be a profiler,” Victor raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I try,” Phichit shrugged, “Yuuri doesn’t take chances, and Victor, you have a third-degree black belt right?”  
  
“Yes.” 

“Okay that may come handy.” Phichit zipped his black coat, “you know that there’s a chance that neither of us would be alive by the end of the day right?”

“I know.”  

* * *

  
The bass resonated with the thumping in Victor’s chest as if any louder his heart would explode. _I can’t remember the last time I went clubbing, must’ve been in college and only because Chris made me._ __  
  
Despite appearing social, Victor rather curl up next to Yuuri and Makkachin with a good book on Sunday mornings than go anywhere crowded.  
  
He followed Phichit through the gathering of either stunning or fashionably ugly people. Phichit’s dark eyes reflected the kaleidoscope of light.  
  
“Solani dulcamara,” Phichit whispered to a young man with blond hair and the front strand dyed red. Victor questioned his age and whether he should be allowed in here.    
  
They followed him through a door with elaborate wood carving as if it belonged to a museum rather than the back of an exclusive club.  
  
_That must be some kind of password._ the knot in Victor’s stomach tightened. _I can’t believe Phichit made sneaking into Nightshade’s nest look so easy._  
  
The beats from the base now faded into an inaudible hum. The dark corridor resembled a labyrinth filled with monsters at every turn, lit only by eerie electric blue night lights like a movie theatre or an airplane that lost the cabin lights.  
  
A new type of rhythmic thumping filled the air.  
  
Minami pushed through another set of doors guarded by a pair of tall lanky men.  
  
Deafening cheering swept through the arena with a fighting ring lit from all sides at the bottom and one figure towering over the other lying limp on the ground. The winner glistened against the light,  
  
“You ready-” Before Phichit finished, large hands grasped Victor’s shoulders, dragging him into the darkness.  
  
Victor’s suppressed the urge to throw his captors.  
  
“Ah, new blood, about time,” one of them chuckled.  
  
“How long do you think he’d last?” the other snorted.  
  
“I’d say half a minute and a bit against the boss,” they dragged Victor downstairs.  
  
“You want to bet? He’s heavier than he looks, I’d be optimistic and say three.”  
  
The other guard whistled and shoved Victor onto a stage.  
  
The rest of the mercenary world cheered and stomped one foot in unison.  
  
“What’s your name?” A woman with long flowing brown hair and violet eyes. She was the no make-up and freckles type of stunning.  
  
“Victor,” he blurted out without thinking.  
  
“Let’s welcome Victor,” her voice reverberated, “they are all named Victor, let’s see if he has better luck than the rest. Place your bets, we begin in sixty seconds. Victor, your choice of weapons?” She gestured at the rack beneath the stage lined with swords, knives and even a spear that appeared as if it belonged in a museum.  
  
Victor’s nails bit into his palm, “no weapons.”  
  
“Pick something, Seung-gil is the most formidable fighter, he will destroy you with bare hands,” her voice filled with genuine concern off the microphone.  
  
“I’m good, thanks,” he inhaled, filling every corner of his lungs, taking himself back to the last time he fought in a mixed martial arts tournament. That tournament had rules, a judge, and etiquette. _I have a feeling none of those apply here._  
  
“Alright,” the beautiful girl squeezed his shoulder, her flowing black dress cropped on one side fluttered, “without weapons.”  
  
The crowd hollered as predators waiting to watch a bloodbath.  
  
Someone threw long midnight blue bandages onto the stage. Victor nodded in acknowledgment. The shade resembled the color Yuuri’s favorite polo shirt. After Yuuri left the mercenary world, Victor convinced him to wear other colors than black.

  
_Yuuri, I’ll find you._ Victor bit into the corner of the bandage, tightening it before moving onto the other hand. _For you, anything._ __  
  
His chin tilted up as the opponent entered the ring. _I don’t want to know how many people died here._ He shuddered, swallowing the dry lump at his throat. My training won’t betray me. Focus.    
  
Silence fell, for the first time Victor caught glimpse of the Nightshade’s deadliest fighter.

  
Without a shirt, the light illuminated every line on Seung-gil’s sculpted torso. The expression on his face impossible to decipher.  
  
Seung-gil’s dark eyes met Victor’s for a split second before launching at him with lethal speed.  
  
Adrenaline sharpened all of Victor’s senses. He dodged. _He’s fast,_ Victor’s pulse fluttered, sidestepping and then blocking with his left forearm. _I can keep up being defensive, but to be able to land a single blow, I’m not sure._  
  
Fifteen minutes past, surpassing the expectation of the guards who dragged Victor into the ring. Victor braced himself for the impact against the ground. The first lesson in fighting was learning to fall.

Stars danced before his eyes.  
  
Most of the crowd cheered. The rest sighed with dismay because they lost the best Victor wouldn’t last five minutes.  
  
Victor clawed at the floor. Phichit’s voice played in his mind. _‘Like Yuuri, I don’t take risks. I know the underworld. This is the fastest and perhaps the only way for us to talk to Seung-Gil. I have no guarantee that either of us will come out of this alive.’_ __  
  
His entire body ached.  
  
“Maybe you should yield,” the woman named Sara whispered off the microphone over him, “nobody ever lasted this long against him. You are remarkable.”  
  
Yuuri’s sketches flashed before his eyes, like a fleeting, distant dream slipping through his fingers.  
__  
_Yuuri._  
  
_I would never give up on you._  
  
Victor propped himself up as the rest of the underworld’s heart stopped.  
  
For the first time, Seung-Gil’s stoic expression changed. His thick eyebrows softened.  
  
_Yuuri, wait for me._  
  
“Eleven,” Victor wiped the metallic tasting blood from the corner of his lips, “Hana,” he muttered incoherently, praying Seung-gil could comprehend the message Yuuri left.  
  
Seung-gil’s expression didn’t change. Without mercy, he feigned an attack followed by a kick at Victor’s flank, knocking the air from his lungs.  
  
I wonder if my ribs are broken. At least I know where to stick the needle when there is a collapsed lung. I hope I am not going to be pissing blood for the next week.    
  
“Punch me from the left side in two moves,” Seung gil whispered.  


Blue-green eyes widened.

  
Victor dodged a roundhouse kick next to his ear. _He is letting me win._ The realization rippled like dropping a pebble into a pond. He let out the briefest sigh of relief before he punched. 

* * *

  
“Sorry,” Victor could only think of apologizing as Seung-gil wiped the blood dripping from his nose.  
  
Again, Seung-gil’s stoic expression didn’t change.  
  
“Pinch your nose and lean forward,” the doctor side of Victor crept in. He insisted on checking Seung-gil’s pupils with Phichit’s phone as a flashlight.  
  
Without words Seung-gil pulled a photo from the drawer and threw it in front of Victor.  
  
Nothing could have prepared Victor for this.

Victor gasped because the man in the picture with the long silver mane and blue-green eyes had a face the mirror image to his own. _Dad said I was adopted and he didn’t know anything about my biological family. Who is he?_  
  
“His name is Alexei Nikiforov.” 

* * *

Delirious from the pain and white cold panic because the last time Yuuri experienced this strange blue haze had been before the age of ten. He tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. His training never failed him, even under dire circumstances. But nothing could have prepared him for the unspeakable past, the incoherent fragments, the blur of the cold hospital bed railings. His nails bit into his palm.  
  
Slow, confident footsteps from dress shoes approached as icy fingers lifted the rag covering his face.  
  
Long silver locks brushed past his cheeks like liquid starlight and he stared at the handsome face identical to the only man he ever loved.  
  
“Ah, so this is my brother’s type,” ocean eyes narrowed into snake-like slits, “hello Yuuri, my name is Alexei. Alexei Nikiforov.” He tilted Yuuri’s chin up with one cold finger. 

* * *

**Author’s Note:**

Victor has a twin...


	4. Hana

Nothing could have prepared Yuuri for the beautiful face before him identical to the only man he loved.

A long soft strand of starlight hair brushed past his cheek, the same shade as the stray wisp Yuuri tucked behind Victor’s ear before their lips met.

The sharp cheekbones, the angular jaw of the jaw, and even the faintest lines at the corner his captor's eye were identical to Victor’s. Alexei Nikiforov wore a simple, white dressshirt like the one Victor hung in the closet they shared.  

Despite the turmoil within, Yuuri’s voice remained steady, “what do you want?” His training would not betray him. He counted the seconds for every inhale and exhale.

Alexei moved with the fluid grace of an enormous cat. His cold finger never left Yuuri’s chin, “It wouldn’t be fun anymore if I tell you, would it?” He uttered with Victor’s voice. 

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. Every one of his senses screamed.   

Alexei fished a device from his pocket that that resembled a smaller version of the metal detector from the airport, “let’s see where it is.” He pressed a button and the grooves on the device glowed, lighting up like a ghost against the dim room without a window. A shimmering neon green arc of light erupted from one end.  

“This won’t hurt,” Alexei shrone the light in Yuuri’s eyes making him squint, “yet,” he whispered. The tip of their nose almost touching.    

Yuuri shuddered. The clanking of the handcuffs, and both of his arms unable to break free triggered a memory every fiber of his being tried to suppress. The white fog hiding the truth from his childhood dissipated a little.   

“There it is,” Alexei scrolled through the faint green numbers on his screen, “now, you are going to tell me where he is.”

“Who?” Yuuri clenched his teeth, blinding green spots danced before his vision.

“Celestino Cialdini,” blue-green eyes narrowed as Alexei Nikiforov spat out the name of the man who gave Yuuri a new life and trained him to become the most feared mercenary.  

“I don’t know,” Yuuri’s throat resembled dried parchment. He left the underworld for good when he and Victor exchanged vows. On the same afternoon, before he promised Victor he would never kill again, his eyes stung as the hugged Celestino one last time knowing that he would never see him again. Yuuri remembered the imprint of Celestino’s large hand patting him on the back while telling him he was happy that Yuuri chooses Victor and becoming ordinary, instead of the hero in the darkness with blood-stained hands. They both knew their path together ended there. It was better that way.

“I can take my time with this, Yuuri,” with lazy steps, Alexei paced across the room. He tossed the device into the air then caught it and tapped the screen with a pale slender finger.

Blinding pain erupted from the back of Yuuri’s skull as if someone tried to hack his head open with an ax. His tolerance for pain high because of prior missions. Being captured, isolated for days, tormented, then given time to heal only to start the process over again, he accepted those as a part of the risks of being a mercenary in his earlier days. As years past, he took no chances and rose to fame as the most feared assassin in the mafia world -- Eleven.

Alexei lifted his finger, and the pain stopped, “that was dialed to the lowest level.”

Cold sweat covered Yuuri’s forehead. He refused to show any sign of weakness. He knew before the age of ten, amidst the sterile white walls of the place Celestino took him away from they did things to his body. The scar at the back of his neck throbbed.

“I’m going to ask you again, where is Celestino?” Alexei hovered over him, “you know I could change the settings, dial it all the way up so you’ll begin to forget,” he clicked his tongue, “imagine not being able to recognize my precious brother.”

Yuuri’s wrist jerked against the handcuffs, rattling the chains. He tossed a poisonous glare at Alexei. 

“Fine,” with the voice dripping in icy venom, Alexei’s finger swiped up on the dark screen.

Yuuri slumped forward in the chair, with all of his self-restraint to not scream to avoid giving Alexei the satisfaction. The raw burning sensation spreading from the base of his neck resembled being set on fire. _Make it stop. I would do anything._

His heart thumped. _No, I will not forget Victor._

_Never._

White dots danced before his eyes, as he squeezed them shut. From the blackness like the void before his vision, the color changed to a familiar shade.

Yuuri clung onto the memory of a bar named Electric Blue as if it was the only thing in the world, as the tiniest wisp of hope.

* * *

_“Electric Blue,” with one finger on his lip, Victor read the name of the piano bar on a small street in Barcelona. His other hand squeezed Yuuri’s._

_“I’ll go in first,” Yuuri flashed a mischievous smile._

_Victor’s chin tilted up, perplexed._

_“Let’s pretend it’s our first date,” Yuuri beamed, “think of this as my way of making things up to you. I’m sorry the last time we were in Barcelona, I had to leave you in a cab because of the job.”_

_“You do owe me more than a few proper dates. And Yuuri, you are going to make the rest of the world jealous if we play this game,” Victor pouted._

_“I’m with you, they should be,” Yuuri vanished behind a set of tall minimalistic black doors._

_Soft music wafted through the air of the late summer night like magic, luring Victor in._

_A grand piano shrone in the dim light at the back of the bar. A man with salt and pepper beard in a suit and an elegant bowtie sat on the bench with his eyes closed, lost in the jazz melody._

_Yuuri nodded at the bartender as she slid a glass with a spherical ice cube inside across the counter._

_“Hey,” Yuuri turned around and flashed the most carefree smile Victor had ever seen, the tenseness around his jaw from the years he spent as an assassin nowhere to be found._

_“Hey,” Victor stepped closer._

_“Your must be Victor,” with a stretched out hand, Yuuri tilted his head to the right as a stray strand of dark hair fell over his eyebrow. He pushed his hair back that night, “Yuuri.”_

_Victor cleared his throat to suppress his silent laughter wondering the number of real dates Yuuri had been on. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand and played along._

_“Can I buy you a drink,” Yuuri touched his neck while avoiding Victor’s gaze._

_“Of course,” Victor slid onto the barstool next to him. A candle inside the geometric box casting a soft flickering sapphire hue onto the dark counter, “I’ll have what he’s having.”_

_The bartender nodded in the acknowledgment as the pianist began another piece, calm like the undulating waves of the shore of the city Victor and Yuuri called home._

_“Do you play any instruments?” Yuuri held the glass to his lip._

_“I wish I could,” Victor leaned closer, crossing and uncrossing his leg, “What about you?”_

_“I can play the piano,” Yuuri turned towards the grand piano on the stage._

_“Would you play for me sometimes?”_

_“Perhaps, if you are lucky,” Yuuri flashed an alluring smile. The melody recurred, decorated by dissonant chords an octave above as distant twilight._

_“Yuuri, what do you do?”_

_“I am planning to open a coffee shop,” Yuuri beamed, “I already have the blueprint,” his turned to face Victor, "and where to import the coffee has been figured out."_

_“That’s wonderful,” without thinking Victor fingers brushed past Yuuri’s._

_Yuuri didn’t move. Victor’s elbow warm next to his._

_People surrounding them tossed them glances filled with envy from watching their “hell of a first date’._

* * *

Yuuri held onto the sound of the piano, the memories of flickering azure from the candle, and Victor’s warmth from their hips touching.

Biting down into his lower lip until he tasted blood, until the pain rippling through his body ceased, Yuuri held onto the memories of Barcelona, of Electric Blue, of the best first date in the world.

“As I expected, agent Eleven,” the voice identical to Victor’s reverberated through the dull grey walls, “it’ll take much more to break you. I don’t like the idea of pulling out your nails or tooth one by one or with cutting one finger off every hour, that's too messy. But what if I torture my dear twin brother and make you watch, you don’t want me to do that right?”

To Alexei’s cold rage, Yuuri laughed while catching his breath, “you won’t find him.” Cold sweat dotted his forehead. 

“What makes you so sure?” Alexei glared at him from above.

Two drops of blood splattered onto the concrete before Yuuri’s feet. Alexei sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand leaving a dark red streak. He dug through the pockets of his grey dress pants for a handkerchief. 

“Because Victor is smart,” Yuuri whispered through clenched teeth, “because I know him better than anyone. And because right now he's with the one person who could take you down.”

* * *

"You need ice, for your forehead,” Victor leaned forward on the mahogany grey sofa that most likely costed a small fortune. The simple monochrome decor of this office reminded him of Seung-gil, mysterious and unreadable. _He must be one step from the leader of the Nightshade to have access to a space like this._

“I’ll get it,” Phichit stood up without hesitation.

The right side of Seung-gil’s lip twitched the slightest, “ _really?_ Do you know what’s out there?”

Two pairs of dark eyes met.

“The underworld,” Phichit straightened his black cap and shrugged, “I’ll go, tell me the way.”

“Fine, take Hana with you,” Seung-Gil’s facial expression changed to the closest thing to a smile.

Before Victor could ask further questions about the name Yuuri mentioned in his message, a grey Siberian husky trotted towards Seung-gil’s desk. He scratched her under the chin as she let out a soft howl and sat next to his feet, “Hana, the leash.”

Crossing the dim office without windows, Hana clawed open the bottom drawer at the bottom of the elegant bookcase framed by wooden carvings and returned by Seung-gil’s side.

 _She is the most mellow and well-trained dog I have ever seen._ A twinge of pain and a knot twisted in Victor’s chest as he realized how much he missed Makkachin. Chris took her in, his golden eyes filled with concern, but he also knew not to ask questions.

“She doesn’t really need a leash,” Seung-gil handed the red loop to Phichit, “it’s more for people out there afraid of dogs.”  

Phichit’s fingers curled around the thick rope.

“Go down the corridor, make a left at the end of the hall and walk about a quarter of a circle around the stadium, there you’ll find a red door,” the bleeding from Seung-Gil’s nose stopped, “then go up three flights of the stairs to the back door of the kitchen behind the club. That’s the only place where Hana can’t go in with you.”

Phichit nodded, “got it,” he exhaled as the texture of the leash imprinted into his hand as he disappeared through the thick impenetrable door.

Hana’s paws silent against deep wine color of the carpet one step behind Phichit. Her head almost reaching the level of his waist. The leash hung loosely as if it wasn’t there.

Phichit’s other hand stayed on the gun Yuuri had hidden beneath the floorboards. Even though he knew enough self-defense from the police academy days, and his aim impeccable, against the rest of the guests here, he was nothing but a pup amongst a wolf pack.

Down the first corridor, to his relief, not a soul appeared.

He entered the stadium, his hand shook a little. He cursed, wishing he had courage like Yuuri. The dissipating crowd from watching the fight, including guys twice his size, with bulging muscles and hooded eyes.

Hana kept up with his pace, always half a step behind. 

A beautiful woman with brilliant red hair whistled as her bellflower eyes fell upon the majestic dog next to Phichit.

Phichit flashed a small smile, forcing himself to appear as if his heart wasn’t about to explode.

His hand stopped shaking when he began to recognize familiar faces. _Georgi Popovich, leader of one of the branches of Nightshade that did their dirty work. I put his brother in prison six months ago. Leo de la Iglesia, he smuggled weapons, his days roaming free are numbered, we have most of the evidence before we swoop in._

None of them knew him, but through hours of listening to tapped phones, secret rendezvous with undercover agents, he knew the thing that drive them, things that made them tick, he knew them better than they knew themselves. 

The lingering guests in the stadium huddled in small groups, engaging in muffled conversation. A hooded figure acknowledged with a grin, “give the boss my regards.”

“Sure,” Phicht responded voice a voice more confident than ever before.

He forgot about the fatigue from climbing three long flights of stairs and pushed through the kitchen door. Hana sat down outside and howled announcing their arrival.

 _Amazing, she knew she isn’t allowed inside. Seung-gil Lee, you are something else. Your mission was to go undercover, yet you climbed the ranks to the leader’s right-hand man._ The door creaked revealing organized, refined chaos.

The closet chef dropped pearls on top of the spherical chocolate cake and arranged a flower petal with a leaf to finish the course. He glanced up through bushy eyebrows. 

“I’m with the boss,” Phichit mustered all of his courage, “can I have some ice please?”

“Sure,” he turned, dodging two other chef along the way with uncanny grace.

Phichit wiped beads of cold sweat from his forehead, as the kitchen door closed behind him. He picked up the red loop of the leash, “Hana, let’s go.”

This time she walked half-a-step ahead of him, leading the way. The past five minutes seemed like hours. Phicht’s feet dragged him back to Seung-gil’s office.

“Here,” Phichit dropped the large ziplock bag onto Seung-Gil’s desk as color returned to his face.

“Thanks,” Seung-Gil’s expression softened, “I see you made it back here in one piece.”

“Thanks to her,” Phichit joined Victor on the other side of the gray couch.

Seung-gil pulled open the bottom drawer and tossed a bag of biscuits across the mahogany desk, “let’s go somewhere safer to talk.” He pressed the ice against the bruise on his forehead, “I trust you left your phones at home?” 

Victor winced, “I did, it’s most likely been bugged for months.” _That was my only connection to Yuuri._ His heart sunk. Victor left his phone next to the one Yuuri’s on the dresser.  

“I have my work phone,” Phichit chimed in while opening the bag of treats, “it gets checked every few weeks.” Hana ate the biscuit out of his hand.

Seung-gil tucked the picture of Alexei Nikiforov back into the drawer, “here use these,” he slid two plain black phones across the table.

“Thanks,” Phichit turned one on, inside the contact list was only one set of initials, SGL.

* * *

“This is my place before I went undercover,” Seung-gil arrived fifteen minutes after Victor and Phichit. 

The two bedroom apartment overlooked the heart of the city and the skyline.

The decor was simple yet elegant. Hana curled up next to Phichit taking up most of the space on the grey couch.

Seung-gil opened the fridge almost spanning from floor to ceiling and removed the only content, a large unopened bottle of water. From the white kitchen cabinet, he pulled out three glasses and filled them.

“Thanks,” Victor gulped, his lips cracked. Water never tasted so good.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Seung-gil crossed his arms, “we’ll find him. Eleven, I mean Yuuri, he saved my life too many times to count,” admiration saturated his voice.

For the first time, Victor heard about Yuuri from one of his former comrades, opening the door of another side of Yuuri he never knew.

“Eleven and I work for Celestino,” Seung-gil joined Phichit on the narrow sliver of space on the couch on Hana’s other side, “he used to work for the Nikiforov family in the security department. Until one day, he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.”  

Hana’s blue eyes slowly closed, her chin resting on Phichit’s leg, dozing off.

Victor frowned from the kitchen stool next to the counter.

“Victor and Alexei’s father was a renowned scientist, twenty-seven years ago there was a fire in the Nikiforov mansion. It was on the local newspaper, his obituary and of the news that is. Except the truth was much more complicated than that,” Seung-gil put down his glass and sighed. 

Thunder rumbled as a flash of violet lightning zigzagged across the sky outside.

“The Nikiforov family was untouchable in the mafia world for generations, they own casinos, built upscale resorts and owned good chunks of real estate across this coast. Alexei’s father, Andrei, took a different path from the rest of his family because he was one of the most brilliant molecular biologists of all time,” Seung-gil continued.

Hana’s head snapped up, “it’s okay,” Phichit rubbed her head, “it’s just thunder.” He wondered if Seung-gil needed to hold her during firework shows. 

“Andrei Nikiforov didn’t always agree with the University, his experiments often fell in the grey area for being unethical, especially those involving gene manipulation. To make a long story short, Andre, in the end,d inherited the mafia and operates in a secret facility that even we couldn’t figure out the location. Because those coming in and out of the base were forced to be blindfolded and stripped of all communication devices.”

Victor shuddered, forearms covered by gooseflesh, “what type of experiments did he do?”

Seung-gil’s dark eyes transfixed to the dark cloud outside of the window, “he possess wealth and technology decades ahead of this time. We believe he had been experimenting with body modifications to create the perfect soldier. The Nightshade Mafia made its fortune by providing mercenaries have been the Nikiforovs’ rival for years. As you can imagine the conflict rising because for years the Nightshade supplied and trained the mercenaries for the rest of the underworld.”

 _Yuuri_. Victor’s hand trembled. _Celestino must’ve rescued him from that horrific place._

“Alexei emerged three years ago, he was trained to take over the Nikiforov empire. My sources confirmed that there is some kind of conflict between him and his father. If my theory is correct, they have Yuuri.”

“While I don’t want to imagine what happened when their experiments have gone wrong, but Yuuri,” Phichit’s fingernails bit into his palm, as he finished Seung-gil’s sentence, “Yuuri was the prototype, and the perfect soldier.” 

“Exactly, this is the reason I am reasonably certain that he is alive,” Seung-gil pressed his lips together, “Victor, we’ll find him. It’s going to take some time. I never give up on my comrades.”

“Thank you,” fatigue caught up with Victor, black dots danced across his eyes.

“Get some rest,” Seung-gil tilted his head toward the office, “the couch in there converts into a bed, and there’s spare toothbrush and towel in the restroom.”   

Victor dragged his body that still ached across the living room.

Raindrops rolled down the glass window spanning from floor to ceiling. Victor watched people below, size of ants with multi colored umbrella crossing the street. His eyelids heavy. _How long has it been? Thirty-six hours ago you were still here._ His lips pressed against the golden ring. _You were showing me the sketches of the cafe that you always wanted to open._

The police siren flickered electric blue in the distance.

That brilliant blue took Victor back to the memory of the piano bar in Barcelona on the midsummer night, back to that time Yuuri made him pretend to be on their first date and he played on along. He took himself back to the time both of them flushed from the scotch, faces tired from laughter, Yuuri pressed his forehead against his, serenading him to the music. 

Victor’s forehead pressed against the cool glass, silver eyelashes fluttering shut, pretending they were close again. Rain splattered against the window. 

Large hot drops poured out of his eyes on to the windowsill at the level of his knee. 

He hadn’t cried since that day he first met Yuuri in the rain.  

Muffling the sobs with the back of his hand, Victor slid down the window and buried his face into the back of his hand.

* * *

“There’s nothing in the fridge, and a fine layer of dust covering the kitchen counter, you don’t come here often right? I am guess it was more than six months ago since you were last here.”

“The amount you talk is equivalent to two people,” Seung-gil opened white kitchen cabinets in search of instant noodles.

Phichit bursted into a tired chuckle.

Seung-gil regarded him with cool grey eyes, “what?”

“I get paid to read people.”

“So?”

“If I may be bold for a second, you are an introvert, who rather read a book, sit alone in a coffee shop than interact with people. You dislike small talk, but you had to master that skill for your job and you resent that.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Seung-gil crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“I’m not done, you don’t find me as irritating as you find most people,” Phichit sunk his hand into Hana’s grey coat.

Seung-gil didn’t answer.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Phichit gasped because a fistfull of fur came off, “that wasn’t intentional, I swear I wasn’t trying to pull her hair out -”

Seung-gil made a small noise, his lips pressed together, “that’s normal, she’s shedding her summer coat.” He did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He almost laughed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The real story begins :). 

I love writing Phichit & Seung-gil.

It took me a long time to name his dog lol.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, see you next week!

xoxo

-Antares

[antarespromise.tumblr.com](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/)

 


	5. Demon In My View

**** “I have a way, to keep you safe while we continue to gather information,” Seung-gil tapped his fingers on the glass desk, “where your skills will come handy, and you’ll have access to places where none of us could ever dream of setting foot in.” He muttered something Victor couldn’t here.  

“Brilliant!” Phichit’s dark eyes widened.

Seung-gil’s expression didn’t change. 

With that, Victor became the doctor for the mercenary world. 

His face hidden behind the black leather mask from Phichit, he picked up Seung-gil’s briefcase that contained his stethoscope, blood pressure cuff and supplies for simple procedures such as laceration repair and headed for the door. 

“You look like you fit right in the underworld looking like that,” Phichit emptied the cup of coffee from a plain white mug. 

“Well, he  _ is _ my twin,” Victor replied darkly. 

“Be careful,” Phichit stepped off the high stool by Seung-gil’s kitchen counter. Hana followed him. 

“Thanks,” Victor put on dark brown dress shoes. 

“I’m coming with you,” Phichit insisted. 

“Phichit, I need you,” Seung-gil emerged from the bedroom in a white dress shirt and a looped black tie hanging loose around his neck carrying a briefcase, “to look through this.”

“But - “ 

“Victor’s going to be fine,” He threw the briefcase onto the kitchen counter sending a whirl of dust flying, Seung-Gil dialed the password and the lock gave way, “besides, nobody lasted as long as he did in the arena against me,” his usual flat tone softened, “please, maybe with a fresh set of eyes, you can figure out where the Nikiforov family hid their base.”  

Phichit sighed, “Yuuri would never forgive me if anything happened to Victor.” He leafed through the contents of the suitcase, including tattered, yellowing newspaper clipping from 30 years ago. 

Seung-gil rested a hand on Phichit’s shoulder and squeezed. 

Phichi’s eyes widened. 

“Phichit, thanks, really I’ll be alright,” Victor turned the doorknob, “I made it this far didn’t I? Besides, I imagine the rest of the underworld does not want to fuck with their doctor.” 

“I guess you are right,” the button holding the black accordion folder gave way under Phichit’s fingers.

The door shut, and Victor’s footsteps faded down the hall. 

“I sent my most trusted subordinates to watch over him,” Seung-gil slid the knot of his tie to the base of his collar. 

“Thanks,” a wave of relief washed over Phichit as he settled back into the barstool by the kitchen counter. He plugged the laptop into the outlet by the sink. 

“Sure.” 

“Do you mind if I bring my hamsters here?” Phichit’s cheeks burnt, “this sounds ridiculous but they help me think.” 

Seung-Gil raised a dark eyebrow, “Sure, Hana won’t mind.”  

* * *

While Phichit leafed through the clues Seung-gil gathered over the years and the corkboard leaning against the wall above the kitchen counter became increasingly dotted with a post-it, maps and surveillance photos, days blended together in Victor’s mind.

He made house calls to see a homebound elderly parent of someone from the underworld. Sometimes he saw patients in the attic of an ancient house where rays of dust floated within the rays of light, secretly glad he didn’t need to ask questions other than about aches and pains. 

He didn’t want to know who the patients were and what they have done.  

He sutured wounds and removed the stitches a week later. He reassured patients that the muscle sprain would get better. His patients base grew, until Seung-gil sent Georgi to line the creaky hallway with more chairs.    

The gratitude from his patients filled the hollowness within a little. 

In the rare five minutes when he didn’t have patients, he stepped into the hallway to adjust the black mask Phichit gave to him. Georgi, whom Seung-gil trusted with his life, waved from the other side of the narrow corridor. 

Footsteps on the creaking floorboards approached accompanied by low rumbling voices, “I saw the Cardinal, at 52nd Street and 5th,” one whispered.

“That means the boss must be back,” the other answered. 

Victor returned to the makeshift clinic.  _ The Cardinal, I have heard of her from Phichit, the only assassin whose reputation could rival Yuuri’s.  _

* * *

On a sleepless night, Victor glanced at the empty left side of the bed converted from Seung-gil’s couch. Yuuri always slept on the left side. A part of him glad that he couldn’t go back to his home, their home, where every crease and crevasse reminded him of Yuuri.

He turned the doorknob in silence. Hana lifted her head from her cushion at one end of the couch where Phichit slept. Phichit usually returned to his own apartment at night, but recently as he and Seung-gil compared notes deep into the night, he claimed the couch. 

More of Phichit’s possessions made its way here. Victor glanced at the cage containing hamsters.  _ Yuuri told me about them.  _ He tried the hardest to recall their names.  _ Yuuri I’ll find you.  _ He opened the door of the cage and picked up the grey one.  __

Seung-gil usually returned in the middle of the night. He nodded at Victor, his hair, fresh from  the shower, matted and plastered to his head. 

“Another match in the ring?” Victor whispered. 

“Yea,” Seung-gil gulped from the large bottle of spring water from the fridge.

“Let me guess, three minutes,” Victor watched the small warm creature munch on a sunflower seed in his palm, while making a guess at how long Seung-gil’s opponent lasted. 

“One and a half,” Seung-gil smirked. 

Phichit stirred in his sleep and the blanket fell from the couch. 

“That took guts,” Victor picked up another sunflower seed, “for him to get ice for you after our match.” 

“I know,” Seung-gil picked up the blanket and covered Phichit’s shoulders, “by the way, Celestino sent me a message today, the Cardinal is in this city, and she’s working with Alexei Nikiforov.” 

Victor straightened his back. 

“The Cardinal is the only assassin the same caliber as agent Eleven,” Seung-gil explained, “She is known for being quick, clean, and merciless.” 

Color drained from Victor’s face, “52nd Street and 5th avenue,” a dry lump rose in his throat, “I have to go,” Victor opened the cage as the little grey creature stepped inside, “I overheard someone saw the Cardinal coming in and out of a warehouse -” 

Seung-gil’s dark brows furled, “that’s their territory,” he put himself between Victor and the door, “stop.” 

Victor clenched his teeth. 

“This will take planning, backups, if the Nikiforovs find out I am involved, this might trigger an all-out war again between the Nikiforovs and the Nighshade. Listen, Yuuri, no agent Eleven saved my life more times than I can count, I can’t have you die like this. Yuuri would never forgive me,” Seung-gil didn’t move. 

Burying his face into his hands, Victor bit his lips, “I”m sorry, you are right.”

“Phichit hadn’t slept like this for days,” Seung-gil turned towards the couch lit by high rises outside, “we move tomorrow night.” 

* * *

The pain stopped, Yuuri’s entire body still on fire. His eyes told Alexei the words:  _ I will tell you nothing about Celestino _

“I envy my brother, to be able to live an ordinary life, and get married,” Alexei sighed, his silver locks stark contrast against the form-fitting mauve dress shirt he wore, “while I, as per family tradition, am taught to become a monster.” 

Black dots danced across Yuuri’s eyes from Alexei activating the device implanted at the base of his skull. 

“Since I am going to kill you anyways, and you are special to my brother,” Alexei pulled a chair across from Yuuri, “I’m going to tell you a story, Yuuri,” he leaned forward, their noses inches apart. 

Yuuri winced as irises the same shade as Victor’s gazed back at him.

“Do you really think your strength and agility is something you were born with? You think for you to become an assassin was a coincidence?” Victor’s voice whispered. 

Yuuri froze.  

“You probably think Celestino saved you and gave you a new life by taking you away from my father’s lab, but there’s more to the story,” Alexei tucked a strand of the long silver lock behind his ear, bitterness filled his voice, “he worked as a security guard for my family. He must have seen the experiments and that didn’t sit well with him.” 

Yuuri gulped. 

“My father’s a brilliant genetic engineer beyond his time, but of course no university or industry would allow him to carry out the experiments because of well, the board of ethics,” Alexei shrugged. 

“All of you are monsters,” Yuuri bit his parched lips.

“I know,” Alexei grinned in a beautiful, haunting Victor-like way, “my father figured out how to regulate gene activation at the finest level, the retrovirus he engineered is capable of gene editing, selecting for the strong the powerful.” 

Yuuri couldn’t breathe, as if all of the air was being sucked out of his lungs. 

“Of course you’d be familiar with the conflict between the Nightshade mafia and my family for generations. My father doesn’t think much of them,” Alexei regarded Yuuri out of half-shut lids, “because he is capable of modifying bodies, at the physical and molecular level to create the perfect soldiers,” he lifted Yuuri’s chin, “and you are the prototype. Of all the ones that died, the experiments that have gone horribly wrong, you survived.”     

Yuuri shuddered as he recoiled, clutching his tattered blue shirt, suppressing a new wave of nausea.  _ Just how much of me is human? They tampered with my memories too.  _ He refused to break down before the demon in Victor’s image. A deep ache ripped through his body, worse than any physical pain. 

“Is there anything you would value above your own life? Something you’d give everything to protect from the side of the world you and I are cannot escape from?” Alexei paced across the dark concrete room with a distant window covered by cobwebs, “tell me where Celestino is, and I’ll give you a quick clean death, and I’ll even let you write a letter and deliver it to my dear twin brother.” 

“Fine, I want to write the letter first,” Yuuri rattled his chains.  

“Alexei, it’s time,” a woman with bright red hair and bellflower eyes pushed through the door, “Yuri will be mad if you are late. Remember his grandfather wanted you to go to his place first.” 

_ Mila Babicheva, or better known as the Cardinal.  _ Yuuri peered at her.  _ Never thought I would meet her here. _ In the mafia world, the only other assassin of equal caliber to Eleven was the Cardinal. Every mafia feared her as well, the same way rodents feared the owl. 

“You are right,” Alexei tossed a pen at Yuuri’s feet and shut the chamber leaving Yuuri in the darkness. After a series of muffled exchanges outside, the Cardinal pushed through the door and flicked on the light. 

“Eleven,” she walked without a sound, “it’s an honor”. 

“I’m not done writing the letter yet,” Yuuri lifted his head. 

“I don’t like inflicting pain,” Mila wrinkled her nose, “you should eat.” She glanced at the untouched microwave dinner in front of him and she took a bite, “poison isn’t my style.” 

“Could you help me find some paper?” 

“Of course,” she left the room without a sound.  

* * *

“You are two minutes late,” the feisty blond teenager glared at Alexei slamming the car door shut, “I don’t know what is up with you lately, you wanted to hang out with me more.”

“Sorry, I had business to take care of,” Alexei pressed the gas pedal as the green traffic light reflected from his sunglasses, “how’s school?”

“Boring as fuck.” 

Alexei laughed, knowing the futility in correcting his sixteen-year-old cousin’s language. 

“Listen, I made close to half a million with my app, you know I can support myself with my IQ, why do I still have to go through all of this bullshit. Can I take college courses online so I don’t have to interact with people?” Yuri crossed his arms.  

“School’s non-negotiable,” Alexei grinned, “I wish I went through high school like a normal kid.” 

“Don’t call me a normal kid. I knew you’d say that and take grandpa’s side,” Yuri grumbled while opening the compartment in front of the car seat. He opened the first sunglasses case and wrinkled his nose. 

“Where do you want to go today? Do you want to watch a movie?” 

Yuri shrugged, “I don’t care. There’s nothing I want to watch. All of the movies are generic, you know with CG and forgettable plots.” 

“There’s this new homemade ice cream place, a little further from the touristy spot,” Alexei turned the car to the left, the sliver of the ocean visible amidst the concrete jungle, “I know you don’t like crowds.”  

Yuri opened the second case and put on Alexei’s pair of old aviators and shrugged. He raised an eyebrow from examining his own reflection from the rear-view mirror, “I’m keeping these.” 

“So much for asking for permission,” Alexei laughed, “By the way, look in the back seat, those are from your grandpa, and they smell delicious.” 

Yuri reached for the brown bag on the backseat, his face lit up like sun rays through the stormy clouds, “Pirozhki!” 

“I am getting hungry,” Alexei’s grin widened like the mid-afternoon sun as he reversed the sleek black car with a tinted window into the almost empty parking lot. 

Yuuri opened the rear door for the brown bag. 

“Those actually work on you,” Alexei remarked glancing at the aviators Yuri ‘borrowed’. 

“Right?” 

Their footsteps synced against the wooden boardwalk. 

“So you still won’t tell me about your side of the family?” Yuri bit into the first pirozhki while handing the rest to Alexei. 

“There’s not much to tell, Yuri,” Alexei unfurled the wrinkled brown paper, “plus - ”

“I know, grandpa made you promise, I’m not a kid anymore,” Yuri wolfed down the rest. 

Alexei sighed, “there are good reasons your grandpa wanted to have nothing to do with my side of the family. And there are things you are better off not knowing. There are amazing, like always!” he reached for another one. 

Yuri made a grudging noise. 

“As my dad would say, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” they deviated from the wooden path towards the ocean with warm soft sand beneath their feet. 

The pirozhkis vanished by the time they reached the tented ice-cream parlor with a hand-painted sign. Alexei ordered a waffle cone with coffee ice cream, while Yuri chooses pistachio. 

Yuri bit into the glistening green ice cream mixed with real pistachio, “Alexei, remind me how we are related again?” 

“Ah, our grandmother are sisters.”  

They strolled along the ocean. Yuri showed Alexei the latest app he had been programming. Alexei listened to his cousin use colorful words to describe people at school. They talked laughed, like ordinary people, and an ordinary family, forgetting how much time passed.       

“Alexei,” the dying sun painted the sky orange. The ocean wind sent a wisp of Yuri’s golden locks across his forehead, “are you alright?” 

“Yea, why?”

“I don’t know,”  Yuri’s voice softened, “it’s just my gut feeling. A weird hunch. By the way, I know your family is a part of the mafia. I know about the conflicts with the Nightshade. I know you are doing your best to keep me out from that side of the world. His forest-green eyes locked with Alexei’s, radiating with wisdom beyond his years. 

Alexei’s pale lips parted, at loss for words.  

* * *

Yuuri lost track of day and night as the wooden door with chipping paint opened once more.

“Are you done writing to my dear brother?” Alexei hovered over Yuuri. 

Yuuri nodded, and leaped from the chair and knocked the wind out of him. 

“You are fucking with the wrong person,” Yuuri whispered.  _ Promise you won’t ever kill again?  _ Victor’s voice reverberated through his mind as he stole a last glance at Victor’s twin sprawling face down amidst tangle of starlight locks. 

With that, Eleven disappeared into the night. 

* * *

**Author’s note:**

Surprise, you get an extra chapter this week. 

One of my favourite themes is characters who save themselves. 

Here you go! 

The short story that inspired this one is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741396/chapters/34079843).  

Let me know what you think. 

-A 

[Tumblr](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/)  
  



	6. Your Song

“We are ready,” Seung-gil’s voice a buzzed in Victor’s ear, “remember this is their territory, we’ll get you out if we have to. My sources spotted Alexei heading to the other side of the city, he should not be here for at least thirty minutes.”

Victor’s hands buried the pockets of his dark trousers. Phichit insisted the formal attire in order to fool Alexei’s followers.

The first wave of cool September wind brushed past his pale cheeks.   

With Phichit’s shuffling footsteps next to him, Victor strolled past a flickering orange street lamp into the heart of the Nikiforov territory. Seung-gil’s most faithful followers lurked in the shadows of the enemy’s lair. He sighed. _Yuuri please be alright. This is the craziest thing I have ever done, pretending to be my twin who is the leader of half of the underworld._

They walked past a hooded figure who cast a sideways glance hesitating whether he should make conversation.   

Victor thumbed at the golden ring Yuuri slid onto his finger. He glared as he remembered Phichit’s instructions to look livid so Alexei’s underlings won’t ask questions. His heart thumped, ready to leap out of his chest. He wondered if Alexei’s man could hear it fluttering.

Then the man’s footsteps accelerated across the pavement.

 _My brother really is fear-inducing,_ Victor’s back straightened as he wrinkled his forehead.  

Phichit flashed a small smile from next to him.

 _Fifty-first, fifty-second,_ Victor counted the street signs. A congregate of people dispersed at the sight of him

“Hi boss,” one of them acknowledged Victor before disappearing into the night.

 _This must’ve been what Yuuri experienced,_ Victor amused himself for half a second. _Wait for me, Yuuri._

Phichit nodded as they stopped before the unremarkable door with ancient rusted handle in an alley. The walls behind them covered in layers of graffiti that accumulated over years. Victor could not figure out the original color of the wall. His eyes lingered on the top layer of a lotus in full bloom against the background of a galaxy.

A black can of paint laid abandoned against the corner of the wall.

The rusty door gave way beneath Victor’s palm.

The air dark and stale.

Phichit followed him down the corridor where months fluttered around a single iridescent light.

A single metal door, resembling a dungeon awaited them.

Victor’s heart sunk because not a soul could be found through the bars of the window.

“I’m sorry,” Phichit whispered as he kneeled to examine the drying blood splatter lingering on the ground along with a ball of crumpled paper, “this can’t be more than a few hours old, Victor, maybe Yuuri’s still nearby -- “”

Victor let out a sharp inhale as he unraveled the wrinkled page. His eyes glistened as hope flooded back within him, “Barcelona,” he could kiss the dirty rumpled page, and he couldn’t care less.    


“What?” Phichit’s stood up.

“Yuuri escaped, and he’s waiting for me there,” Victor clutched the precious page to his heart.  
“Victor, how did you know that’s where he is from the few squiggles?”  
  
“Phichit, this is why we are married,” Victor’s smiled for the first time, his facial muscles tight, as if he had forgotten how since Yuuri disappeared, “that’s the window design on Casa Batllo,” he tapped a few letters into his phone as Phichit marveled at the whimsical building with a dragon for the roof.

“Yuuri really is amazing,” Phichit shook his head and couldn’t stop wiping his yes. He whispered into the the hidden microphone, “Seung-gil, agent Eleven managed to escape, we are retreating.”  

* * *

Victor pushed the heavy dark door of Electric Blue. The ambiance seemed just as he remembered.

Candles flickering, projecting shades of blue into the dark wooden counter like the wall of an underwater cave.

 _Yuuri, I know you’d be here._ Victor’s heart pounded.

A new piano piece started with low rumbling arpeggios as the lonely melody began.

The guests conversed in a soft hum in the background.

Victor’s glance fell upon the glistening blue light reflected by the grand piano.

He let out a sharp inhale and quickened his steps.

The melody soared higher as Yuuri’s fingers flew across the keyboard. His eyes shut, dark lashes fluttered. When he opened them again, they widened and glimmered.

The music didn’t stop.

Victor settled next to Yuuri on the piano bench, as his warm hand rested around Yuuri’s waist.

“So I am lucky enough to hear you play,” Victor smiled, “finish this song for me?”

Yuuri blinked, trying to contain the hot crystalline drops pooling in his eyes. He stepped onto the pedal. The tears nobody had ever seen rolled from the back of his hand disappearing into the black and white keys. The melody sometimes dissonant, infusing the air with haunting beauty.

Victor edged closer, their hips and shoulder touching.

With a final cadence and fall of Yuuri’s wrists, the music ended.

Victor squeezed his shoulder, “you are amazing.”

“I wrote this for you,” Yuuri buried his face into Victor’s navy coat, “I know you’d find me here.”   

“What did you name it?” Victor kissed the side of his neck.

“Contraindications,” The corners of Yuuri's lips curled up.

A short burst of laughter escaped Victor’s throat, “did you get that from reading my index cards back in my med student days?”

Yuuri’s grinned through glistening eyes, “perhaps.”

“Brings me back to our coffee shop days,” Victor interlaced his fingers through Yuuri’s, “you were very distracting.”

Yuuri stood up, pulling Victor with him.   

* * *

“Can we not talk about what happened? Just for tonight?” Yuuri pleaded as they strolled through the streets of Barcelona at night infused with magic.

“Of course,” Victor squeezed his hand, “as you wish, wait let me tell Phichit.” He switched the sleek black phone from Seung-gil.

Yuuri grinned, “I knew Phichit would know what to do, and Seung-gil too. I haven’t seen one our old phones for ages.”

Victor’s fingers flew across the screen, “your friends are, something.”

“Right?”

Yuuri led Victor to the boutique hotel with a narrow elevator with a modern minimalistic painting and mirrors on all sides. He settled there for less than a day.

“I’m going to clean up, it was a long flight,” Victor hung his navy coat onto the velvet black hanger in the empty closet. Fatigue of weeks of sleepless nights caught up with him. He unraveled the top button of his white dress shirt and headed for the bathroom, “wait for me.”

He turned on the shower and stood in the water, warm like midsummer’s rain, like the first he met Yuuri. Victor pinched his forearm to make sure that everything had been real. A new weightlessness washed over him as a hero coming home after a long journey.

He wiped his eyes, as Yuuri open the bathroom door.

“Victor,” Yuuri’s fingers curled around the glass screen, “I can’t wait anymore.” Still fully clad in formal attire from his performance, he stepped into the shower running his fingers through Victor’s silver locks, longer than he remembered.

“It’s always like this huh?” Victor whispered in between kisses, as he peeled off Yuuri’s white dress shirt now translucent.  

Yuuri laughed at the private joke.

There was always rain. 

Victor unbuckled Yuuri's belt and kneeled.

Yuuri caressed the side of Victor’s face and muffled the involuntary sound from escaping his throat with the other hand. One million sensations flooded his nerve endings as if becoming alive all over again as Victor's familiar lips closed in around him. He stepped back until the smooth grey wall pushed against the bare skin of his back.

“Who did this?” Victor reached up for the side of Yuuri’s sculpted flank at the bruise, fading into faint shade of gold.

“Let’s not talk about that tonight,” Yuuri insisted.   

“Alright, but you’ll tell me?” Victor swept wet bangs from his eyes and leaned down to kiss Yuuri in the forbidden place.

“Victor, I made up my mind. I won’t hide anything from you anymore,” Yuuri kneeled next to him as their foreheads touched, “even the ugly bits.”

“That’s more like it,” Victor smiled as he rained kisses over every part of Yuuri he missed. His eyebrows, over his eyelashes, his cupid’s bow, his fluttering pulse at the nape of his neck. His arm curled around Yuuri’s neck, resting over the scar at the base of the scalp, “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Yuuri threaded his arms around Victor’s torso, motioning for him to stand, “it’s the reason I couldn’t find you right away after I escaped, and I’m sorry.”

Victor’s hands left trails in the steam against the glass, as Yuuri’s body pressed flush against his.

Hands interlaced against the glass, Victor heard the snapping sound of a small bottle opening followed by it slipping out of Yuuri’s hand and onto the ground.  

He surrendered. 

* * *

Victor kissed the top of Yuuri’s head pressed against his bare chest. He inhaled Yuuri’s familiar scent like the fresh pine forest after the rain. The sky outside of the Venetian blinds glowed faint pink.

He didn’t move, afraid of wake Yuuri, as he realized he hadn’t slept like this in days. He wished time would stop, and he could live these moments over and over. He wished they didn’t have a formidable enemy lurking. He clung onto Yuuri and shuddered. _The enemy that happened to be my real family._ _I hope dad is alright._ He hadn’t spoken to Yakov for weeks because being watched by the underworld under a microscope, he would not put him in danger. _I wonder if he knew._

Yuuri’s eyes opened a slit, “morning,” he glanced up at Victor.

“Morning,” Victor ruffled his messy dark locks, pausing at the scar at the base of his scalp.

“Oh that,” Yuuri’s fingertips rested on Victor’s chest, “the Nikiforov family must have implanted the transmitter when they had me as a lab rat when I was a child.”

Victor winced at the name Nikiforov, “so it was him.”

“Alexei activated the device synced to the transmitter on me when he captured me,” Yuuri nuzzled his head against Victor’s shoulder, dark eyes narrowing.

“I’m sorry,” Victor blurted out. He didn’t know why he would apologize on behalf of his twin.

“Victor, it wasn’t the physical pain,” the glow of the morning skin flickered from the reflection of Yuuri’s eyes, he paused, searching for words, “he looked like you, the way he spoke, moved, the way his voice sounded.”

“I’m so sorry,” Victor held him tighter, “what did he want?”

“Celestino’s whereabouts,” Yuuri spoke the name of his former employer with fondness, “he is starting to make it onto the map of the underworld.”

“What do they want with him?” Victor sat up as the white blanket slipped down to his waist.

“Celestino didn’t just give me a new life, there are others he saved from the lab while risking everything. He used to work for the Nikiforov family in the security department. You see, the Nikiforov family didn’t take any chances, they blindfold and search for trackable devices of even their own before boarding the vehicle or plane to their lab. Celestino didn’t know where the base was either,” Yuuri rested his head against Victor’s shoulder.

“Yuuri, what exactly did they do to you at the lab?”

Yuuri sighed, anticipating the inevitable, “they experimented on my body using a retrovirus, that could active and deactivate DNA, selecting for traits that would make me into a perfect soldier,” he shuddered, “Alexei told me that my strength was no coincidence, they changed me, they medicated me so heavily that I don’t remember anything before the age of ten. Victor, I don’t even know how much of me is still human.”

“Shh, it’s alright, I don’t care how much of you is human. You are you, and for me, that’s more than my wildest dreams,” Victor smiled as he rubbed Yuuri’s shoulders until they relaxed.

“Victor, you say the silliest things sometimes,” Yuuri couldn’t help but grin back, like the first ray of sunshine through storm clouds.

“But the technology they achieved,” Victor’s face serious again, “that’s --”

“Decades ahead of our time,” Yuuri finished his sentence.

“So what do we do now?

 

“I know where the lab is, now we will bring them to justice,” Yuuri squeezed his hand, “but first, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

* * *

They rode the train away from the whimsical city.

Victor watched the trees transform into blurs of green, yellow and orange. Yuuri’s hand never left his.

‘What are you thinking?” their hips and shoulders touching, Yuuri broke the peaceful silence.

“This feels almost, normal,” Victor chuckled.

“Right?” Yuuri sipped Victor’s cup of cappuccino, “Celestino is going to scold me for this.”

“Why?”

“I told him I am leaving the mercenary world for good, even if the Nikiforov case never gets resolved. He was happy for me. But now I am back.”

“With a technically a long lost member of the NIkiforov family,” Victor raised a silver eyebrow.

“We’ll go on a real vacation soon, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

* * *

The villa overlooked the rolling green mountain ranges.

They walked along the cobblestone road to the edge of the small village.

Yuuri rang the doorbell twice. A dog barked from inside.

Victor clenched his fist, missing Makkachin even more.

Steady footsteps approached as the lock gave way.

“Yuuri!” a middle-aged man with the muscular build and pulled Yuuri into a bone-crushing hug, “never thought I’d see you again.”

A Samoyed puppy, whiter than snow and as tall as Victor’s knee leaped at him while wagging her tail.

“Ghost, down,” Celestino released Yuuri, his dark-blue gaze paused on Victor and widened.

“This is my husband,” Yuuri gestured, “Victor Feltsman.”

Victor wondered if he had something on his face for Celestino to transfix his eyes with such fascination. He then remembered Alexei. _Celestino must’ve watched Alexei grow up_ if he was once a part of the Nikiforov family’s inner circle.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to stare, but the resemblance is uncanny.”

“I know,” Yuuri picked up the Ghost, resembling a massive snowball, “you are getting heavy.”  

“It’s alright,” Victor flashed his best smile. _At least looking like Alexei got me past his people and led me to Yuuri._

“Please sit, let me make some coffee,” Celestino headed for the kitchen, leaving Yuuri and Victor to marvel at the inside of the villa.

A simple painting of a majestic steed hung on one side of the pale yellow walls. Light from the windows that almost spanned from the floor to the tall ceilings illuminated the dining table with a simple ivory cloth.

“Nice place,” Victor parted his lips.

“I used to spend summers here,” Yuuri sat on the brown leather couch while ghost wrestled with a stuffed toy chicken on his lap.

“He has as many books as Phichit,” Victor’s ocean eyes rested on the bookcase next to the elegant fireplace.

“I read most of them,” Yuuri grinned, “when Celestino trained me, I ran through the forest path for hours at a time.”

 _I can’t believe I am in the home of someone who trained the underworld’s most feared assassin. All of this seems surreal._ Victor settled next to Yuuri.

“I know it’s might be hard to believe, but yes, Celestino does run one of the biggest networks of mercenaries.” Yuuri answered Victor’s thoughts.”

Celestino returned from the kitchen with a dark violet tray with a silver coffee pot, blue-violet coasters made from polished stones and three brown wide lipped mugs of different shades of brown, and a porcelain jar with milk.

“Celestino makes the best coffee,” lightheartedness filled Yuuri’s voice, “no need to be humble about this,” Yuuri smirked at his mentor.

“Alright, I won’t say any more,” Celestino rested the tray on the dining table and motioned for Yuuri and Victor to join them.

“I narrowed down the location of the lab,” Yuuri helped himself to a cup of black coffee.

Victor remembered Yuuri used to only order his coffee one way at Leo’s shop, where he once studied in.

“How?” Celestino gasped, “our people tried for years.”

“It’s a long story,” Yuuri picked up the mug.

He told Celestino everything.

Victor couldn’t help but wince during certain parts because the pain Alexei inflicted on Yuuri.  

“So you picked the lock, the way that I taught you with parts of the pen, knocked him out and took the chip from his phone,” a wave of pride washed over Celestino’s face, accentuating the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Yea, here,” Yuuri pulled a ziplock bag from his pocket containing two chips and a handheld device that Alexei used to inflict excruciating pain, “from my preliminary analysis of the locations Alexei frequented, I narrowed the potential location of the lab into two.”

“You always exceed my expectations,” Celestino exclaimed.

“Well, you taught me a thing or two,” Yuuri pretended to be humble, “I think with this information, we can come up with a plan and take them down once and for all.”

“And then I am making you retire, and that’s non-negotiable,” Celestino glanced over at Victor.

“Deal.”

“Hey Yuuri,” Victor sipped the best coffee he ever had, “I always wanted to ask, why Eleven?”

Celestino and Yuuri began to chuckle at the same time.

“I wish I could tell you a deep profound story about it,” Yuuri reached for his hand from across the table, “but I can’t, it’s my lucky number, that’s all.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-A

P.S. [Here's my art. ](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/tagged/art+by+antares)

P.P.S. Here's [my sci-fi story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078359), I am kind of proud of it. 

 


	7. Nightshade

Seung-gil came home later and later.

Phichit’s corkboard resting on the kitchen counter filled with snippets of pictures and notes. At the foot of the kitchen table, Hana’s water bowl full, and her food half eaten. Phichit had been walking her for the past several weeks. 

Seung-gil opened the fridge, the light illuminated Phichit’s sleeping face on the couch. 

“Fuck,” Seung-gil whispered, rubbing his forehead as he sighed from the events earlier in the day at the Nightshade headquarters. He emptied the glass of water, bracing himself for the freezing numbness over his forehead and the gnawing of his stomach. 

Realizing he hadn’t eaten since the morning, he pulled the metal handle of the fridge again and found the casserole dish wrapped with plastic containing stir fry. Since Phichit frequented his apartment, the fridge became stocked with real food, instead of containers of leftover takeout and large bottles of spring water. 

“Hey,” Phichit rubbed his eyes, sitting up on the couch, “I saved your dinner.”

“Thanks,” Seung-gil peeled the plastic wrap and lifted the white dish into the microwave mounted above the stove. 

“Of course,” Phichit flattened the top of his mussed hair, “I’m glad Yuuri was alright.” 

“Me too,” Seung-gil tossed a treat for Hana, “Victor Feltsman, he really is something.” 

“No wonder Yuuri was ready to leave everything behind,” Phichit paused studying Seung-gil’s face, “are you alright?”  

Seung-gil sighed, “yea.” 

“You sure?”

“Well, there’s been some rumors within the Nightshade that I am trying to take over. J. isn’t pleased,” Seung-gil stepped onto the barstool. 

“Jasper Mansfeldt huh,” Phichit spoke the name of the leader of Nightshade, “we have been trying to bring him to justice for years.” 

“Good luck with that,” bitterness filled Seung-gil’s voice, “that man has connection deep in the government, the senators, the police, he has spies in every nooks and cranny.” 

“You rose quickly in their ranks,” Phichit remarked.

“My mission is to go undercover, find the location of the Nikiforov lab and get out,” Seung-gil rested his chin on crossed arms, “I do have people within the Nightshade who are faithful to me. I guess because I trained them in hand-to-hand combat.” 

“What’s Jasper like?” the barstool squeaked as Phichit turned. 

“Manipulative, the old fox is everything you’d expect in a mafia’s leader,” Seung-gil winced, “many in the Nightshade didn’t like his ways, treating them like their lives meant nothing. I know he would come for me soon, because I trained his most elite guards, because I am now a threat.” 

“How do you live like this?” Phichit couldn’t imagine the amount of strength Seung-gil possessed. 

“Celestino gave me a new life when he rescued Yuuri and I from the Nikiforov lab,” Seung-gil’s eyes narrowed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up the past.”

“It’s alright,” Seung-gil left the barstool, “Phichit, you should leave, it’s not safe here.” 

“But -” 

“Please,” a finality filled Seung-gil’s voice, “I am expendable, but you are not. I have no idea where my real family is, or who they are. I have Hana, all that I ask is if something happened to me, please take care of her.” 

“Don’t say that,” without realizing, Phichit clasped onto the fabric of Seung-gil’s sleeve, “I’d be sad if something happens to you, Seung-gil, Victor and Celestino too.” 

Seung-gil froze.

Phichit released his fingers, “sorry, I’ll leave.” 

Phichit packed his laptop, and swung the bag across his chest, “take care of yourself, and let me know if there’s anything I can do.” He slammed the door, leaving Seung-gil in the darkness.

* * *

Seung-gil woke up alone in the apartment

A strange sense of emptiness reflected from the white walls with high ceilings without Phichit and Victor. 

His phone twitched on the bedside table. 

“Boss, get out of your place now!” Georgi’s voice anxious from the other end, “J is coming for you, I’m sending backup.” 

Hana began to howl, as Seung-gil scrambled to pull on a black T-shirt and tucked the gun inside his dresser drawer into his waist.

Footsteps reverberated down the hall.

Seung-gil unzipped the black backpack - the only object in the closet inside his study. He clamped one end of the cable to the crossbar meant for coathangers and dragged the other end across the room. 

He lifted the levers of the window as shots outside fired, and the lock gave way, “Hana, it’s alright girl, trust me,” he put on the pair of gloves inside the backpack and held her with one arm, “don’t look down.” 

She whined when he scaled the side of the building from the penthouse, thirty floors above the ground. His arm trembled from her weight, as his sneakers skidded along the brick. Happy in secret at five a.m. in the morning nobody would see him outside. 

The roof of a shorter building under construction now only forty feet below. 

Someone from the ground screamed.

Thirty feet.  

Wind in his hair, he glanced at the place he intended to land. 

Twenty. 

Ten.

Five. 

The cable warm against his gloved hands, he kicked the side of the building as hard as he could and let go. 

His side smashed into the pebbles on the roof under construction, scraping his elbow raw as Hana landed on top of him.  

With lighting reflex, he rolled to the left as shots from above blasted the pebbles at his feet. He sprinted for the door. Hana trotted behind him. 

He ran down the concrete steps in the unfinished building, knowing J’s side of Nightshade awaited him below. Adrenaline sharpened all of his sense as he ran down the spiraling steps, despite wearing gloves, his hands burnt from the friction of sliding from the cable. 

Heart pounding against his chest, he heard cars braking outside

Seung-gil wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead as he approached the ground floor where wooden planks and panels of drywall laid against the bare concrete wall. He didn’t have anywhere to hide, “stay behind me,” he whispered to Hana. 

He held his breath and with his elbows smashed as hard as he could against the wooden boards surrounding the construction site. 

Splinters pierced through the surface his skin drawing blood, he didn’t wince as the wooden board gave way and he slid outside with a gun in his hand, grateful for the darkness of early morning. He tiptoed along the narrow alley, stalling for time for Georgi and his people to arrive. 

Then a bullet whistled past his left shoulder into the wooden board. 

“Fuck,” he swore, knowing the enemies from above had the better vantage point. He regretted allowing Georgi to come, as he realized all of this had been orchestrated. 

Jasper Mansfeldt, the leader of the Nightshade didn’t only want him dead. He wanted to round up all loyal to Seung-gil and kill them too. 

He sprinted down the dark graffiti covered alley, a stray cat vanished behind the metal recycling container at the sight of the husky.  

More bullets rained behind him, bouncing off the fire hydrant sending sparks. 

Footsteps trailed him as he made a sharp left turn along locked shops down the street. Mapping his escape routes which didn’t seem optimistic. 

He turned into the next alley with the overflowing dumpster and the stench of decay. 

Another bullet narrowly missed his shoulder in the direction he headed. Trapped in both directions, he gestured for Hana to hide in the crease behind the rusted metal container, “I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He knew he may not come out of this alive, let along protecting her.   

Biting his lips, while preparing himself to charge through the enemy, more bullets fired from behind him. Except it wasn’t aimed at him, but for the shooters ahead of him. 

With reflexes lightning, Seung-gil snapped his head back and his lips parted, “it’s you.” 

Phichit’s back brushed past his. 

Seung-gil whispered, “I told you to leave, I don’t need your protection -” 

“I am only going to say this once,” clenching his fists, Phichit stood taller, “I am not doing this because you need protection,” he fired two more shots, “I am doing this because I want to.”

Seung-gil’s eyes widened, his cheeks burnt, the world at five am suddenly vivid with colors, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean - ”  

“You are not expendable Seung-gil, not to me. There's one thing I never told you about me, that is when I shoot I don't miss,” Phichit fired another bullet in the opposite direction, “now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Seung-gil nodded.  

Covering each other’s back, they stalled for time. Hana didn’t move or make a sound behind the large metal container. 

Each second resembled an eternity. 

“Jasper really wanted to get rid of you huh?” Phichit whispered, “my sources had been tailing him.” 

“Yea, all I mean to do was to go undercover to find out where the Nikiforov lab is,” Seung-gil shook his head. 

Phichit didn’t need him to finish the rest of the sentence: Seung-gil never meant to rise through the ranks so the leader of the Nightshade felt threatened. 

“Fuck,” more tires skidded to a pause on the concrete,” Seung-gil swore, bracing himself. 

More gunshots fired in the distance. Georgi and the rest of his people arrived. 

“Seung-gil Lee,” an icy voice began from the end of the alley, “it’s over.” 

Phichit squeezed Seung-gil’s shoulder. 

“I’m going to distract him, while you run,” Seung-gil gripped his gun until his knuckles turned white, with nowhere to run, Seung-gil stepped toward the light. 

“I’m not leaving without you,” Phichit protested. 

Jasper Mansfeldt awaited him on the other side, a man with lithe form and salt-and-pepper beard clad in a grey suit with a golden handkerchief in the breast pocket as if dressing up for the special occasion. 

Seung-gil narrowed his dark eyes.

“We have full control over this area, now drop the gun,” Jasper smirked, “it’s about time that I did some house cleaning.”

Seung-gil didn’t move. He had one last bullet left. 

The first light of dawn crept over the concrete jungle illuminating the graffiti-stained walls. 

A silent piercing sound, followed by a thump. 

The leader of the Nightshade mafia toppled onto his knees as blood seeped through his chest onto the golden handkerchief. 

Times stopped. 

Seung-gil inhaled sharply.

He never pulled the trigger. 

From the rooftop two blocks away, Seung-gil caught glimpse of a beautiful woman with brilliant red hair and bellflower eyes tucking away her gun with a silencer installed. 

_ Mila Babechiva. The Cardinal.  _

Next to her, stood a tall blurry figure with long silver locks flying in the wind. 

Looks of fear saturated the eyes of the guards by Jasper’s side, knowing the tables turned. 

More car tires skidded along the asphalt, as some of the J’s people fell one by one. 

“Boss!” Georgi yelled from the rolled down the window of a pitch black van, “we got you.” His dark blue eyes widened as he watched the leader of Nightshade fall. 

Seung-gil had just enough time to shove Phichit out of the way from an incoming bullet.

“Thanks,” Phichit landed beneath Seung-gil, wincing from the weight on top of him. 

Seung-gil didn’t answer. 

Phichit couldn’t try to imagine the turmoil beneath Seung-gil’s stoic expression. 

With Jasper dead, this meant only one thing. 

Seung-gil was now the leader of the other half of the mafia world, the only part with powers to rival the Nikiforov family. 

Jasper’s followers scattered as Georgi’s people swooped. Seung-gil trained most of them himself.  

“Georgi, I am leaving things here up to you,” Seung-gil turned back to the alley he hid Hana, with Phichit by his side. 

“You bet, boss,” Georgi smirked as he continued to shout instructions to his followers. 

Seung-gil’s hands trembling a little, as he peeked behind the rusted metal container where he hid Hana and greeted with emptiness. 

“We’ll find her, she couldn’t have gone far,” Phichit squeezed his shoulder. 

Seung-gil’s dark eyes glistened, “she’s my only family.” He slammed a fist into the metal sending flakes of rust to land onto the dirty concrete, “Damnit!”  

Sirens began from the distance, accompanied by gunshots dwindling like the end of a storm. 

“I come in peace,” a fearless melodic voice began from behind them. 

Phichit and Seung-gil turned facing the only other assassin with skills that could rival agent Eleven: the Cardinal. 

Mila dropped her gun with the silencer still attached, “your dog is safe. I’ll bring you to her, but please come with me. There’s someone who would like to meet with you, Seung-gil.” 

* * *

“I have a proposition,” Alexei Nikiforov interlace his fingers as locks of pale silk spilled over his shoulder, “we have a common enemy here, I’ll tell you where the lab is and ways to get around its defenses. But in exchange, I want you to take down the Nikiforov mafia.”

“What makes you think I’d trust you,” Seung’s voice cold as vodka out of the freezer. 

“Mila,” Alexei gestured with his chin. 

Seung-gil’s expression softened as the sounds of a familiar howling and fur padded feet tapped across the concrete accompanied the clicking of Mila’s heels. Hana whined and leaped on him. 

Seung-gil tried to keep his hand from trembling as stroked the nape of her neck. 

“I wasn’t born a monster,” Alexei’s blue-green eyes softened, “my father made me this way.” 

Mila sniffled. 

Seung-gil couldn’t fathom the reason the Cardinal, the only assassin of Yuuri’s caliber, would lose her composure. 

“Alexei,” Mila wiped her eyes, “he’s dying,” her voice trembled. I told him to get back to the hospital, but he won’t listen.” 

“It’s too late for me now, Mila,” Alexei squeezed her hand.

“We can’t do this!” Phichit exclaimed, “not after what you did to Yuuri and Victor!” 

Alexei snorted, “my dear brother had it easy. To have a normal life, a job that pays well enough to be comfortable,” his blue-green eyes narrowed, “and of all people he could have married, he choose Eleven,” from his blue-green eyes, the slightest sign of grudging respect, “others would beg me to kill them under that much pain, but Eleven, he’s different. He has a backbone.” 

“You are a sick twisted snake - ” Phichit clenched his teeth.  

“I know I am,” Alexei flashed half a smile, “I am getting off track here,” he uncrossed and crossed his legs, burying a hand into his pocket, “Seung-gil, or should I call you  _ Thirty-Six _ .”

Seung-gil didn’t move. 

Alexei twirled a device in his palm, “I was going to destroy you too, like the rest of my father’s experiments, including those Celestino helped to escape. But you proved yourself very useful, and most definitely not expendable. Listen, I know you are intelligent so I will cut the crap, I have information on the Nikiforov lab that nobody else could dream to ever possess. I need your forces, and you need my knowledge. I don’t have that long to live anyways, so either I will take everything to the grave or I can make an attempt to fix some things." His voice softened. 

* * *

“You want a drink?” Seung-gil reached for the cabinet and flipped two clear glasses from his apartment now in shambles. He hadn’t bothered to mop the footprints of the attackers from twelve hours ago.   

“Please,” Phichit leaned against the counter and signed. 

The ice cubes clinked against the crystalline glass in crisp notes as Seung-gil poured the scotch. 

“Let’s go to the roof,” Phichit gulped. 

Seung-gil followed him. 

The terrace on the roof overlooked the city. Lights by the pier flickered amidst reflections of skyscrapers in the ocean. 

They stood by the metal railing. 

Hana curled up resting her head on Seung-gil’s feet. 

“How did you two meet?” Phichit began. 

“Hana and I?” Seung-gil glanced at the husky at his feet, “I was stuck between two puppies at the shelter. A Labrador that was everyone’s favorite, wagging his tail and playing fetch and Hana,” the creases of Seung-gil’s forehead softened, “she was thin, terrified of people and sat shivering at the corner the entire time.” 

Phichit rested the glass on the railing. 

“I visited the animal shelter often enough the staff knew me, and one day one of them asked me to hold her for a second while she answered the phone. By the time she got back Hana fell asleep in my arms,” the corners of Seung-gil’s lips curled up, “and I realized I am not leaving without her.”   

Phichit grinned, “that’s amazing, what a story.” 

Without words, Seung-gil sunk to one knee to stroke Hana’s fur. 

They sat next to each other on the bench overlooking the skyline. 

Unsure how much time passed, the side of Phichit’s face rested against Seung-gil’s shoulder, his chest rose and fell, even and deep. 

Gathering all of the course he never knew he had, Seung-gil leaned down and kissed him. 

* * *

**Author’s note:**

My one sentence summary of Seung-gil in this story is: signed up to go undercover but accidentally became the leader of half of the mafia world. 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

-A

P.S. This is my fanart of [Alexei](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/post/179974657226/nikiforov-if-you-read-my-story-contraindications). 

 


	8. Ordinary People

“You what?” Yuuri almost choked on hot chocolate, “you fought Seung-gil Lee to try to get close to him to save me.”

Victor laughed, “I did.”

Yuuri spluttered yet couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, “I know you have a third-degree black belt, but this is the Nightshade we are talking about. _His_ kind of fighting is very different from your kind of fighting.”

“Well, I survived right?” Victor nudged closer.

“You are more resilient and actually scarier than I ever imagined,” Yuuri’s eyes transfixed on the flickering fireflies along the forest path behind Celestino’s villa. Before meeting Victor this scenery had been Yuuri’s definition of home.

“It comes with the profession,” Victor grinned glancing at the millions of stars above.

The milky way glistened above them in between the clearing amidst the thicket. Victor wished time would stop, and they didn’t have to fly out the next day before dawn to take down the Nikiforov mafia. _Dad definitely knows something._ He knew better than contacting Yakov in case he had been followed.

“What are you thinking?” Yuuri took his hand.

“I wonder how dad is doing,” Victor pictured Yakov opening the door of the secluded inn by the ocean at five a.m. every morning accompanied by the crisp bell.

Yuuri squeezed his hand, “let’s visit him when all of this is over.”

“Sounds good, I wouldn’t mind a vacation, like normal people,” Victor raised his mug of hot chocolate, “cheers, to being nothing but ordinary.”

Their blue mugs clinked together.

“Come, I’ll show you my favorite place in the world,” Yuuri tugged his hand, fingertips a hint of coolness from the early September air as leaves rustle amidst the chirping of crickets.

The forest path coated with soft moss widened as the ground inclined upward.

“When Celestino trained me, I used to come here all the time,” Yuuri brought him to the edge of a cliff overlooking a turquoise lake reflecting the milky way and a flickering crescent of the moon.  

“It’s beautiful,” Victor’s arm wrapped around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri’s lips brushed past his cheek.

They sat on a rock next to the edge of the cliff in silence.

They didn’t need words anymore.

* * *

Past midnight, they returned to Celestino’s villa with empty mugs.

Celestino rubbed his eyes and stretched at the dining table with elaborate wooden carvings on its legs, “we have some interesting developments.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“Seung-gil is now the leader of Nightshade,” Celestino stroked Ghost’s snow-white fur.

“That means -” Yuuri narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, Jasper Mansfeldt is dead, the Cardinal killed him.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri whispered, “that was uncalled for after the Nikiforov mafia and the Nightshade had been at each other’s throats for so long. How’s Seung-gil holding up?”

“He seems alright, he’s harder to read than most, which is one of his strengths I suppose,” Celestino removed his gold-rimmed glasses, “your friend is with him, the one who works as the criminal profiler for Secret Services.”

“Ah, Phichit,” Yuuri’s voice surprised because Seung-gil never opened up to anyone before. In his mind, Seung-gil only wore one stoic expression.

Victor smiled a little. Ghost, the Samoyed, stood on his hind legs, draping his front paws on Victor’s lap. He missed Makkachin more than ever before. _Chris probably spoiled her rotten by now._

“Seung-gil got some information confirming the location of the Nikiforov lab, and its defenses,” Celestino leaned forward, “and it matched yours.”

Yuuri’s fingertips brushed against the place the chip had been buried inside his neck, “does that me -”

“Now we fight,” Celestino’s completed his sentence.

A moment of understanding flashed between them.

Victor raised an eyebrow and continued to play with Ghost.     

* * *

“Alexei!” Yuri clenched his fists, growling.

“Ah Yuri, what did I do this time?” Alexei swallowed the pills as fast as he could with iced coffee.

“I saw your biopsy report, why aren’t you in the hospital,” Yuri’s fists slammed onto the table of the shop deep in the alley of the old part of the city lined with cobblestone streets. Some passersby glanced at the feisty teenager and kept walking.

“How?” Alexei wrinkled his forehead, “Yuri you didn’t sneak into my apartment, did you?”

“So what if I did?” Yuri scoffed.

“You know that’s illegal, right?” Alexei shook his head, “you are too smart for your own good.”

Yuri snorted and mumbled under his breath, “what part of what _you_ are doing is legal.”

Alexei chuckled, “you are right, as always. Besides, when we look up medical stuff online for long enough, we all think we are going to die.”

His blue-green eyes widened as his cousin pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Alexei, that’s bullshit, I saw your diagnosis, and it doesn’t take a doctor to figure out what it meant,” Yuri choked, burying his face into Alexei’s crimson dress shirt, “I can’t lose you, and I won’t.”

Alexei patted Yuri’s back with his pale hands.

Yuri’s shoulders shuddered as warmth spread across the front of Alexei’s shirt.

“Yuri,” Alexei’s fingertips brushed past a few locks of Yuri’s golden mane, “as you figured out what our family is involved with on your own, despite my efforts, there are things I won’t hide from you anymore.”

Yuri sniffled, his eyes puffy, “alright, let’s walk.”

They headed for the ocean in silence. The boardwalk empty, with exception of several motivated joggers.

“The truth is, I think you are ready to hear it, I’m not a good person,” Alexei gazed into the endless ocean, “My father forced me to do things as a child,” he bit his lip, “and brainwashed me into someone who could hurt people without remorse. I’m a monster.”

Yuri picked up a flat piece of rock from the sand, “you are not.” He threw it into the waves and it skipped six times before sinking into the crystalline water, “what changed?”

“Funny that you ask,” Alexei searched the sand, “I have a brother that I never met, actually a twin.”

“No way, there’s another like you?”

“Yes, except someone saved him when we were born, and took him away from the Nikiforov mafia,” Alexei’s eyes narrowed, “he lived a normal life. He’s a doctor now.”  

“I can tell you are jealous,” Yuri read him like an open book.

“I’m not,” Alexei’s protested feebly, “he got to live an ordinary life, have a career, he got married,” he picked up a flat grey rock, “to one of the deadliest assassins from the mafia world.”

“The Cardinal?” Yuri rested a finger on his chin.

“How much more about the world you are not supposed to know about did you figure out on your own,” Alexei’s rock sunk to the bottom of the ocean without skimming the surface.

Yuri smirked, “you suck at this.”

“No, he married Eleven,” Alexei sat into the sand, hugging his knees to his chest.

“ _The_ agent Eleven?”

“Yea, the only assassin with the reputation that could rival the Cardinal,” Alexei buried a hand into the soft sand.

“Your twin must be something,” Yuri turned, facing him, “it must be in the Nikiforov genes to attract things from the underworld.”

“Indeed. Agent Eleven was one of my father’s creations to become the perfect soldier. The ten prototypes before him didn’t survive.” Alexei picked up the warm sand, the granules sparkled in the early morning sun, “My father’s old bodyguard Celestino snuck Eleven, amongst thirty-six others out of the lab.”   

“Damn.”

“My father is a genius, there’s no doubt the University gave him a severance package so he could leave and discontinue his genetics research that infringes the border of ethics,” Alexei sighed, “his technology is decades beyond today’s time. And everyone Celestino Cialdini saved is too dangerous to be kept alive.”

“Why?”

“Because my father engineered a retrovirus that can modify activate and deactivate genes, selecting for strength, agility, intellect. My father built an entire army of the perfect soldiers in his lab.” Alexei lifted his chin to the sky as a pair of seagulls spiraling into the endless blue, “because with this technology, people can start creating the perfect children. We have no idea what the long-term effects are.” He shuddered, “he conditioned them with pain from the implanted chips within their neck to obey. He used to make me do it all the time. Activated the button, induce pain. Until I could press those buttons and feel nothing.”  

Yuri crossed his legs, his golden brows wrinkled.

“You see Yuri? I’m the bad guy,” Alexei tied his long silver locks into a high ponytail, the warm wet spot on his shirt from Yuri’s tears now faint.

Yuri shook his head, “Alexei, do you remember how we met?”

“Of course, we had tea with Lilia and your grandfather. I would never forget that homemade apricot cake,” Alexei’s smile filled with a hint of sadness.

“I never thought you were evil,” Yuri propped his chin, “grandpa was worried about me, skipping classes, getting into fights at school, Lilia introduced you to me. I was in a terrible place, and you told me to get my shit together in your own ways, and I did.”

“I’m proud of you, Yuri,” Alexei sighed, “you are still too smart for your own good.”

Yuri snorted, “I know I’m smart. So? What changed? What made you want to stop your father?”

“You are going to call me cheesy,” Alexei cast a sideways glance, “For one, I want you to live in a world without the shadows of the Nikiforov mafia for being related to my family.”

“Yea that’s pretty fucking cheesy.”

“Two, this is going to sound strange,” Alexei tried to swallow the lump at his throat, “I captured agent Eleven, it took five of my father’s soldiers to get the job done. I tortured him for Celestino’s location by activating the chip in his neck.”

Yuri’s forest-green gaze held his captive.

“My father didn’t treat his experiments like they were humans. He told me they were tools, means to an end, objects that could be traded as a business transaction of the underworld,” he gripped the sand, “but Eleven proved me wrong. I never intended to kill him, simply to see how far he would go in protecting my brother and his comrades. I tortured him for days, but he wouldn’t give in. I realized I had been brainwashed by my father all this time, blinded by the power of the Nikiforov mafia. I didn’t know what love was until I saw his eyes when he said my brother’s name.”

“Did you let him go?” Yuri pressed his lips together.

“He managed to escape,” Alexei blinked from the brilliant sun through the clouds, “actually I told Mila to give him a pen on purpose that I know agent Eleven could use to take apart the handcuff. He should be with my brother by now,” he coughed.

“You are not a monster,” Yuuri handed him a brown napkin from his leopard print backpack.

“Thanks,” Alexei wiped his nose and hid the blood from Yuri but failed.

Large crystalline tears poured out of Yuri’s eyes again, turning into wet spots on the sand, “I’m dragging you to the doctor’s if I have to,” he buried his face into his hands.

“Alright Yuri, alright,” Alexei lied.

After Yuri's tears dried into trails, Alexei stood up, "I know how good you are with computers Yuri, there's nobody in the world I trust more than you."

Yuri sniffled. 

"Can I ask you to help me?" Alexei's hands rested on his cousin's shoulders. 

"Only if you go to the doctor," Yuri returned to his old self and crossed his arms. 

"Fine."

"Fine." 

"Yuri, I need you to program a virus to take down the defense system of the Nikiforov lab." 

"Pfft, that's easy," Yuri smirked.   

* * *

Seung-gil’s eyes opened a slit then widened at the sight of Phichi’s sleeping face on his pillow.

He realized they fell asleep on the same bed by accident.

They stumbled back from the terrace on the roof with empty glasses of scotch.

He sat up gingerly, not wanting to wake up Phichit.

Peeling off his wrinkled black dress shirt and trousers, he stepped into the shower. The event in the past twenty-four hours hadn’t sunk in yet. He shut his eyes, hoping in secret everything had been a nightmare.  

He sighed as hot water rolled down his sculpted torso.

HIs head pounded, perhaps from the hangover or from becoming the leader of Nightshade.

Tying a grey towel at his waist, he wiped the steam from the mirror with one hand and stared into the reflection of his bloodshot eyes and pulled out his toothbrush from the cabinet.

Phichit’s face burnt as Seung-gil stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, “sorry, I fell asleep on your bed.” His eyes darted to the ground.

Seung-gil shrugged, “it’s alright.” dark locks pasted on his forehead.

Phichit’s stomach made a noise. They had forgotten when they last ate.

Seung-gil chuckled, “clean up and I’ll take you to my favorite food truck for breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” Phichit flattened the stray strands of hair and shut the bathroom door.

* * *

“You really are excited about this food truck,” Phichit followed Seung-gil down a street with graffiti-covered walls.

“You have no idea,” Seung-gil’s stoic expression soft and more relaxed than usual.

They stopped in front of a truck with a worn orange billboard and neon green letters of the menu in capital letters with pictures of omelets, croissants, and smoothies.

“My treat, what do you want for breakfast?” Seung-gil reached for his pocket.

“I’ll have the same thing you are having,” Phichit scratched his head and grinned. _I’m still hungover._

“I’d like two plain doughnuts, vegetarian omelets and coffee please,” Seung-gil then greeted the man inside the truck like an old friend.

The first hint of coolness in late September brushed past Phichit’s cheeks as he stared absentminded at the lady across the street in the park feeding the flock of pigeons. _He stopped pushing me away,_  Phichit couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. _Did we fall asleep on the same bed? I don’t think we did anything._

“Hey, the least you could do after I paid for all this his to help me carry it,” Seung-gil raised a dark eyebrow, interrupting Phichit’s reverie.

“You bet,” Phichit reached for the warm brown paper bag with one hand then bit into the most perfect doughnut he ever had.

“Let’s go sit into the park, like ordinary people,” Seung-gil’s smile stunning, foreign, and mesmerizing.

“Like ordinary people,” Phichit echoed.     

* * *

**Author’s note:**

Writing Alexei had been an amazing journey. Characters that he makes me think of: professor Snape, Prince Lotor (before _that_ happened :P), and there’s a bit of Laurent (Captive Prince) in him too.

I intended for readers to hate him at first, then feel conflicted, and in the final chapters fall in love with him.

I took a risk with him, knowing that I would lose some readers along the way. I have no regrets though (waves bye to the unsubscribers).

For those who stayed, thank you!

xoxo

-A


	9. J.K.L.M.

“Stay close to me,” Seung-gil pushed through the door of the exclusive nightclub leading to the underground arena where Phichit and Victor ventured into in order to find him. That seemed like years ago.

 _Always, if you’d let me._ Phichit didn’t say anything out loud.

Several members of Nightshade sparred in the ring, as Georgi shouted instructions in a black tank top drenched with sweat.

“Georgi,” Seung-gil’s expression stoic as usual.

Guang Hong paused in mid-fight and the room fell into deafening silence as all gazes transfixed upon the newest leader of Nightshade.  

“Boss,” Georgi smirked, “you are the big boss now, how does it feel.”

Seung-gil shrugged.

Phichit snorted in silent laughter.

“There’s lots of work to do,” Seung-gil headed down the hall with carpet like dark wine.

“Jasper’s faction vanished, this place is ours,” Georgi shouted after them, puffing out his sculpted chest.

The second time Phichit walked along this path had been different from the first when he ventured into the kitchen to fetch ice for Seung-gil after the fight with Victor.

“Where are we going?” Phichit’s footsteps soundless.

“To his office.”

 _Oh._ Jasper Mansfeldt.  _The elusive, ruthless former leader of the other half of the mafia world that we could never find the evidence to put behind the bars despite how many times the secret services tried,_ Phichit sighed.  _Dead, just like that._ He shuddered thinking about sheer determination within Alexei - whose face resembled Victor’s down to the tiniest lines along the corner of his eyes.

The heavy mahogany door gave way as they stepped into the elegant office with high ceiling and a chandelier that must’ve cost a fortune.

Phichit couldn’t imagine the amount of fear and raw power that once reflected off these walls, “The Nightshade is yours.”

Seung-gil rubbed his forehead, “I never signed up for this.” He sunk into the leather chair by the wide spotless desk and opened the drawer.

“I know,” Phichit leaned against the bookcase behind him.

Seung-gil picked up a black and white photo with wrinkled edges from the drawer. Two boys and two girls, no older than early teens grinned in front of a carousel, happy and carefree. His eyes widened with recognition of the boy on the left with the pointed nose and freckles holding a bag of cotton candy.

“That’s Jasper,” Phichit exclaimed.

Seung-gil turned the picture over and studied the initials J.K.L.M was scribbled in ink, “I wonder who they are.” The boy next to Jasper had similar features, but shorter and stockier. They bore enough resemblance to be related, “Nightshade’s been passed down through the Mansfeldt family for generations. That must be K., Jasper’s brother who was killed during the last time Nightshade and the Nikiforov mafia collided more than twenty years ago. Because of the fire, his body was never found.”

“I can’t imagine being born predestined to inherit half of the underworld,” Phichit blinked, hovering over Seung-gil’s shoulder, “I guess we don’t choose who our parents are.”

* * *

Victor woke up to the aroma of homemade waffles before dawn.

Yuuri’s forehead pressed against his back, still fast asleep. Victor turned, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist and shook him, “Yuuri,” he whispered, “we should get ready.”

Groggy, Yuuri buried his face into Victor’s bare chest, “five more minutes.”

“Three,” Victor’s stomach growled.

“Celestino makes amazing waffles,” Yuuri shifted then propped himself up, “fine I’ll get up because you are hungry.”

Victor grinned.

Celestino’s hair flowed past his mid-back, he wore dark blue pajamas, “ah Victor sit,” he poured coffee into three turquoise mugs.

“Thanks,” Victor settled into the elegant wooden chair with carvings on the legs as Yuuri joined them.

“How’s Seung-gil holding up?” Yuuri sipped from the steaming cup.

“He is alright when I spoke to him this morning,” Celestino cut into a corner of the golden waffle, “but like you, he’s not the most expressive one. He’s hard to read you know.”

Yuuri chuckled, “Phichit gets paid by secret services to read people, I wonder what he thinks.”

In the meantime, the delicious waffle distracted Victor from the conversation.

“For the first time, the Nightshade’s leader is someone outside of the Mansfeldt family,” Celestino wiped his lips.

“Is there anyone left?” Yuuri reached for the homemade strawberry jam.

“As far as I know, Jasper’s bother, Kovya’s body was never found after the fire that burnt the Nikiforov mansion almost thirty years ago. The was last time Nightshade and Nikiforov mafia collided.”

Victor dropped his fork, startling Ghost, who sprinted to Celestino’s side like a fluffy snowball, “give me a pen!”

Celestino handed him a notepad and a blue fountain pen.

Victor scribbled his father’s name:  _Yakov D. Feltsman_  and underlined it, drawing in a sharp breathe, “my dad -”

Yuuri peered over his shoulder.

“Look,” Victor’s hand trembled as he wrote another name beneath, Kovya _Mansfeldt_ , “take all the letters and rearrange them.”

Yuuri’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

Celestino studied his face, head shaking, “curious.”

“But why?” Victor capped the pen.  _Why would my dad take his archenemy's son and raise me as his own?_

Every hair on his arm stood.

He leaned against Yuuri for warmth.

* * *

The tail end of tourist season approached, as Yakov flipped the sign of his inn to the side with ‘open’, written in calligraphy. He sat by the window overlooking a lake as an enormous seagull landed on the railing, grooming its feathers.

He turned to the sound of wheels of a suitcase and clicking of heels.

The crisp bell followed the wooden front door opening, Yakov looked up and smiled, “Lilia, you found me.”

Lilia stepped forward and embraced her ex-husband with a small smirk, “Kovya, of course, I’d find you. Took me a while this time, you old weasel.” Her hair pulled back in an elegant bun, “without mafia connections. I can still find you, even if you scramble the letters of your name or stitch another face on.”  

She smelled the same as the when they last met over ten years ago, like jasmine.

“Can I make you some tea? Yakov released her.

“I guess so.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable, it’s too early for the guests, Yakov vanished into the kitchen.

Lilia left her mauve suitcase by the counter and strolled around the humble dining room of the inn. Her gaze stopped at the black and white photo of four children at a carnival next to the painting of a lone boat with brilliant saturated colors. A taller boy with freckles and a sharp nose, next to him, Yakov stood between his brother and a Lilia, his eyes transfixed on the girl next to her.

Yakov returned with a porcelain teapot on a tray, the rim of the elegant off-white teacups lined with thin threads of gold.  

“You kept this,” Lilia gestured at the old black and white photo.

“I did,” Yakov settled the tray on the counter as Lilia perched on the barstool next to him.

“I know you came this far to have nothing to do with the mafia world,” she began, “but Jasper is dead.”

Yakov sighed, a hint of sadness saturated his dark-blue gaze, “I hope it was quick and painless.”

“It was,” Lilia reached for a cup, “I know you didn’t agree with his ways, but I thought you’d like to know since you are the last Mansfeldt left.”

Yakov didn’t answer.

“And there’s something else you might find interesting,” Lilia lifted the cup to her lip, leaving a light pink lipstick print on the rim, “Alexei Nikiforov is planning taking down his father’s mafia.”

Yakov froze, “Alexei.”

“Yes, he made it through the fire.”

Yakov’s eyes glistened as Lilia reached and squeezed his hand, “I’m glad.”

“You know the reason I left you was that even though you learned to love me, I know nobody could take Marina’s place. Even if she was married Andrei Nikiforov, the arch nemesis of your entire family. Since the day you saved Victor, and since the day you decided to raise him as your own, I knew. Even if Marina is no longer with us, her place is irreplaceable.”

“Lilia, I’m so sorry,” Yakov rubbed his eyes.

“Let the past stay the past,” Lilia crossed her slender legs, “besides, I had a couple of my own dreams to chase after,” a hint of mischief saturated her smile, "I had no interest hiding in the middle of nowhere with you."

“You opened a ballet school,” Yakov put down the cup.

“I did,” Lilia puffed out her chest, the warm rays of dawn painted an elegant silhouette of her on the wall, “I didn’t want to move from place to place with you. After you left I taught ballet from my home studio. Then more pupils came, the school grew from there.”

“I’ve always known you are destined for great things, Lilia,” Yakov smiled.

“Thank you,” Lilia’s face serene as she glanced at the turquoise lake outside of the window, “and Victor, how is he?”

“He’s a doctor now and he’s married to a lovely young man. They drive up here every month to visit.”     

“I’m glad,” Lilia's smile timeless.  

* * *

That night when Yakov laid in bed, the scene from almost thirty years ago played before his eyes.

Jasper gathered the rest of the Nightshade and surrounded the Nikiforov mansion, “Kovya, stay out of this, you know that leaving the twins or any of the Nikiforovs alive means someday, they would be standing over the dead bodies of our family.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Yakov watched a hooded member of the Nightshade attach explosives along the edge of the limestone wall.

“I already gave the instruction to leave no one alive in there, if you try to stop me, I will kill you,” Jasper reloaded his gun, “now get lost, little brother,” he sneered as explosives blasted holes on the side of the wall inside the mansion.

Yakov ducked behind a tree for cover. Bullets fired from within the like the rain. Biting down onto his lips until he tasted metalic blood, he charged inside.  

His shoulders burnt, from the impact against the front door that the Nightshade bolted shut. Gun in both hand, he infiltrated the hall, past a painting of wisteria blossoms, Marina’s favorite flowers.

Footsteps of the other members of the Nightshade reverberated through the corridor lined by doors, followed by gunshots and the thumping of bodies falling onto the ground.

His heart sank.

His blood cold.

The color drained from his face.

He ran upstairs remember that Marina loved sunrises and large windows. He headed for the east side of the mansion, as explosives shook the floor, parts of the ceiling rained down. Footsteps followed him and he didn’t care.

He turned the white knob of the last door next to the tall windows that spanned from the ground.

“Marina,” he let out a sigh of relief, “I’m taking you out of here.”

“Kovya,” her lips parted, silver locks spilling over her shoulders, holding a baby in her arms.

The rims of her blue-green eyes wet, “please, take them instead.”

The baby with a tuft of silver hair and eyes the same shade as his mother curled his fingers around Yakov’s thumb and refused to let go, “but-” he protested as his childhood friend and the only woman he ever loved handed the bundle him.

She turned for the bassinet for the other twin as another explosion shook the earth and the floor from the room caved in. Heat radiated from the outside, with the smell of burning and destruction.

“Marina, no!” Yakov screamed as the ground gave way from beneath her feet.

“Yakov, take Victor and go, please, take him as far away from this world as you can,” Marina held onto a fragment of the wooden floor. The bassinet containing the other twin slid down with her.

His vision blurred.

He couldn’t save Alexei in time.

Hot tears poured out of his eyes as a flaming piece of ceiling tile fell on top of his childhood best friend, “Marina, I will. I will. I’ll raise him as my own.”

She nodded as she let go, on her face, the smallest hint of a smile.

* * *

“Does the girl on the right remind you of someone?” Seung-gil studied the photo again.

Phichit hovered over him, “Victor looks like her. But that doesn’t make sense, why would the heirs of Nighshade have anything to do with the Nikiforov family.”

“You are right,” Seung-gil shrugged, throwing the photo back into the drawer, “hey Phichit, do you think Alexei could really be trusted?”

“I get paid to read people and this time, I think he is our only lead and the best we could do at this point and time.”

Seung-gil rubbed his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Phichit leaned against Jasper’s desk, facing him, “do you need to take a break have a few hours away from all this?”

“I’m tired,” Seung-gil’s voice softened. Then he looked up and smirked, “maybe I do need a break, read me.”

“What?” Phichit raised an eyebrow.

“Read me like how you profile the criminals, I believe I should be a challenging case,” Seung-gil interlaced his fingers.

“Challenge accepted,” Phichit’s dark eyes scanned along Jasper Mansfeldt’s display case. Amidst the crystal tigers and elaborate miniature ship, his gaze stopped upon a golden bottle of champagne, “I -” his face burnt, “I can’t do this sober.”

The door of the displace case lined by mirrors gave way.

“How much do you think this cost?” Phichit admired the calligraphy on the label.

“Who cares,” Seung-gil removed two crystalline glass while Phichit walked along the same path as the first day they met without fear to the kitchen to fill a pitcher with ice.

Seung-gil settled both glasses on the sleek desk and opened the cork with a swift motion of his pocket knife.

Phichit sat on the chair across from him and picked up a glass, eyes widening as the bittersweetness overwhelmed his senses, “this really is something.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this bottle costs more than a regular car,” Seung-gil sipped, “shall we?”

Phichit emptied the first glass, “I’m going to state a fact, and if I’m right, you have to drink. If I’m wrong, I will. Some of the facts may be brutally honest and a bit harsh, you sure you want to play this game with me?”

“Yes,” Seung-gil crossed his arms.

“One, you lived in the shadows of agent Eleven, you look up to him,” confidence radiated from Phichit’s voice.

Seung-gil tipped the glass, “well who doesn’t, Yuuri’s famous.”

“Two, you don’t know how to cry, even if you try,” Phichit propped his chin with one arm, leaning forward.

Seung-gil drank.

“Three, you like cold places, ideally with as few people as possible,” picking up his glass, he walked around the desk to Seung-gil’s side, “I’m guessing the ideal vacation spot for you is to hike on top of a mountain, where not many could make it to the summit, live on a tent on your way up, and watch the stars with a giant mug of half-sweet cocoa.”

Seung-gil sighed and tipped the glass.

“Four,” Phichit’s hips leaned against the table, “you want to be ordinary. After all of this is over, you want to leave the mafia world, find a normal people job, get married like Victor and Yuuri. You secretly envy them, but at the same time, watching them gave you hope, like that is really possible. I have a gotten a lot right haven't I?”

“Don’t worry, it takes me a long time to be drunk,” Seung-gil gulped.

“And five,” Phichit leaned closer, his cheeks flushed, he set down the glass, “even though you put on the facade of an ice cube, you are like a piece of rock but with feelings too, therefore, I give you permission to kiss me when I am not asleep.”

Their nose now less than an inch apart.

Seung-gil raised the glass to his lip and emptied it. His cold fingertips brushed past Phichit’s cheeks and closed the distance between them.

Phichit’s hands buried into Seung-gil’s hair as the kiss deepened. Phichit’s knee settled on the wedge of space on the chair between Seung-gil’s legs.

Seung-gil cupped his face with both hands, his palms warm his breaths accelerating as if he didn’t hurry the world would end. Phichit unraveled his top two buttons.

“Phichit,” Seung-gil whispered between kisses, “you are the first -”

“Person that you wanted to hold onto,” Phichit peeled the corner’ of Seung-gil’s black dress shirt, “I know. I have known for a long time,” his lips warm against Seung-gil’s neck, “I want to hold onto you too.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This chapter explains many things right? 

-A

[Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/antarespromise/)

 

 


	10. Lucky Number

“You got everything?” Alexei’s spoke with Victor’s voice through the earpiece sending shivers down Phichit’s spine. 

“Yes,” Seung-gil replied into the invisible microphone. 

“I’m going to lure Andrei from the island and stall for time, while Victor can pretend to be me after a haircut, and he’ll upload the virus,” Alexei never referred to Andrei Nikiforov as father. “Next, destroy the room with the remotes that my father used to control the soldiers he created. Some of my people are inside, you announce through the PA ‘code eleven’ and they’ll know what to do. The computer virus will disengage the self-destruct protocol of the complex meant to blow itself up leaving no traces infiltrated. I don’t want any more people to die.” 

“Got it,” Phichit affirmed. After hours of painstaking meetings and planning, Alexei reiterated the plan one last time.  _ Eleven, warmth spread through Phichit’s body. Yuuri your name became more than a thing of fear. It is becoming something else. Hope.   _

Victor and Yuuri returned from Barcelona two days ago. Phichit and Seung-gil caught them up with the madness of the past week and the plan to take down Andrei’s lab and the Nikiforov mafia. Alexei never showed himself except as a voice to converse with Seung-gil or Phichit. 

Perhaps, given the circumstances, not meeting Victor and Yuuri in person was indeed the best option. 

* * *

“I guess this is goodbye, Mila,” Alexei lifted the dark violet suitcase down the stairs, “your cab should be here soon.”

Mila pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Listen to me, with the money you made from this job, I don’t think you’ll need to go anywhere near the underworld again,” Alexei buried his face in her brilliant hair, “your debt from the past is paid. You are free.” 

Mila nodded, “I don’t think you are the bad guy,” she managed to finish the sentence, trying to contain the hot burning crystalline tears from pouring out of her bellflower eyes. 

Amused, Alexei patted her on the back, “I’m still the monster my father created, but tonight, I’m going to set things right.”

The cab driver honked, as Mila squeezed Alexei’s pale hand one last time. She had a plane ticket to Costa Rica, where she rented a house on a cliff overlooking the ocean.   

* * *

“You ready?” Phichit’s fingers interlaced with Seung-gil’s under the table in the back of a van lined by monitors Alexei left for them at the pier.

“I was born ready,” Seung-gil’s expression stoic. To Phichit’s surprise, Seung-gil’s shoulder shuddered in silent laughter as he rocked forward, “you actually believe I would say that with a straight face?” 

Phichit’s dark eyes widened, “I’m just shocked that you make joke jokes,” clutching his stomach, he couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping his throat.

Seung-gil grabbed his collar and kissed him long and deep.  

* * *

After finishing a large chai latte, Alexei showered and watched the sunrise from his penthouse apartment. The October sky painted by the dying rays shades of violet and pink.

He wasn’t sure if he’d live through tonight. 

He paused by the photo of himself and Yuri on the bookcase and traced it with his fingers. Next to it, an old black-and-white photo in a simple frame of four children with the initials J.K.L.M. written on the back. He loved the way the childhood version of his mother looked, happy and carefree. He pressed the flimsy photo with wrinkled edges against his heart. 

At the higher level, he picked up another photo and wiped off the dust. 

It was the only photo where he and Victor were together. 

Andrei Nikiforov stood tall in a perfectly tailored grey suit as if he could have stepped straight from a fashion magazine. His icy gaze transfixed in the distance. 

Their mother, with hair like starlight, held both of them.  

He buttoned the white dress shirt, taking his time, savoring every second he had left. 

This could be the last tux he’ll ever wear. 

He fastened a black tie and gathered his flowing silver hair into a high ponytail. The shorter locks at the front hid the left side of his face identical to Victor’s. 

* * *

Seung-gil met Victor on the industrial part of the pier, as the sun began its descent.

Victor acknowledged him with a small nod, brown coat fluttering in the wind. Yuuri insisted on joining them but Victor held him back. He loathed the cursed place more than anyone. The same place where Yuuri was kidnapped from his family, tortured, drugged and experimented on until he possessed no recollection of any events before the age of eleven. Phichit convinced his best friend to survey the movements of the Nikiforov mafia, the side faithful to Andrei Nikiforov.

Nobody knew where the Nikiforov lab had been because anyone traveling on and off-site had been blindfolded and forced to wear noise-canceling headphones. 

The boarded a ship with a rusting hull and the name Seagull IV painted in blue. 

Nobody dared to question Victor or make a comment about his hair or make eye contact. He pasted on the coldest, most emotionless face he could muster.  _ I am Alexei. I am a Nikiforov. _ He repeated to himself. That latter wasn’t a lie.  _ This must be how Yuuri feel. Revered. Feared. Untouchable.  _

Seung-gil’s expression unreadable. Victor noticed a new lightness in the air around him. 

“He does not need to be blindfolded,” Victor’s voice icy like vodka from the freezer. 

The members of the Nikiforov mafia scampered away. 

The humming of the engine began as Victor, Seung-gil and the rest of Phichit’s agents from the Secret Services their breath in the shipping container. 

“Seung-gil, you almost there?” Phichit’s worried voices began amidst the static. 

“We just left, it’s going to be alright,” Seung-gil whispered into the microphone disguised as a button. 

Forty minutes passed, they sat next to each other in a private chamber on the ship in silence. 

At last the ship approached the island off the maps that nobody could locate for years. They knew, without Alexei's co-operation, there'd be no chance of finding this place. 

The foliage began to change into fall colors, painted vividly by the dying sun. 

Victor and Seung-gil stepped off the metal steps and headed for the futuristic complex. Victor knew, his biological father possessed technology decades ahead of the present time. Shivers ran down his spine. He didn’t want to imagine the amount of pain and suffering that had taken place inside the geometric glass walls. 

Armed guards from the Nikiforov mafia flanked them. 

Victor continued with his icy glare so nobody would ask questions. Shutting his eyes, and recounting the map that Alexei sent to Seung-gil, he imagined the escape route in his mind's eye. 

He trusted Phichit and Seung-gil with his life. As for Alexei, the twin brother he never met, he had been uncertain, until Yakov called him and told him everything.  _ ‘Please, save him, I promised your mother I would take both of you away from the mafia world. I didn’t have enough time to save Alexei.’    _

Victor kissed the golden ring from Yuuri when nobody was looking. 

Through the glass doors, they entered the complex built from triangular panes of glass spanning from roof to ceiling. 

“Leave us,” Victor’s voice razor sharp, as the guards dissipated without a word. His face unfazed, his heart leaping out of his chest. 

Seung-gil frowned next to him. 

Seung-gil never spoke about his past in the lab. Victor wondered if he had been through the same horrific things as Yuuri, or worse before Celestino set him free. He didn’t want to ask. 

The pale marble floor gleamed orange from the sunlight shining through the glass panes. 

Seung-gil nodded as they turned to the left into a sterile white corridor. He could draw the map of the complex with his eyes closed. His breaths shallow and rapid, as he suppressed memories of these walls. 

The walked past technicians in pale-blue scrubs carrying racks containing vials, and stacks of cell culture. 

They reached the unremarkable room with the number 311D. 

Victor stood before the camera that flickered green as a part of the facial recognition process.

Victor resisted from wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, then the door clicked open. The light flickered on detecting their motion. 

Mounted on the wall, racks spanned the entire room resembling bookcases. 

Seung-gil touched the back his neck where the chip had been buried. He counted the numbers next to every remote and then stopped at the number 36. He pulled the black device from the shelf. 

_ That must be his _ . Victor shuddered. The Nikiforov mafia used the remote to synchronize to the chip to induce unimaginable pain.  _ Alexei tortured Yuuri with it. They used these to control the perfect soldiers they created through modifying their bodies. Those sick fucks.  _

Then the sound of a bullet fired from a gun with a silencer followed by the sound of glass shattering and the scent of burnt plastic. Seung-gil’s hands trembled a little after shooting through the remote. 

_ He’s free,  _ Victor smiled. He knew that wasn't necessary, but to Seung-gil it was ceremonial. 

Seung-gil attached the explosives from his black backpack at every corner of the cursed the room. 

They slipped out without a sound.  

* * *

The exclusive restaurant where Andrei Nikiforov asked Alexei to meet located on the roof of one of the highest skyscrapers overlooking the oceanside city.

The host in a black suit led him through the minimalistic yet elegant interior with a different type of glass flowers as the centerpiece of every table. 

“Would you be dining indoors or outdoor?” the host asked. 

“Outside please,” out of the corner of his eyes, he watched the eastern horizon. 

Within five minutes his father appeared in the empty restaurant clad in a tailored silver suit. His dark eyes darted over the ocean and the skyline then studied his son’s face. 

Alexei and Victor had their mother’s eyes. 

“Father,” Alexei nodded as he draped the deep red napkin across his knee. 

“Alexei,” Andrei flashed a cold smile, the suit accentuating his salt-and-pepper beard. 

The host handed each of them a leather-bound wine menu. 

“Do you have something you’d like to tell me tonight?” Andrei studied the shortlist of some of the finest wine in the world.  

Two crystalline wide lipped glasses stood between them. 

“Yes, I accept,” Alexei leaned forward.

His father froze. 

“I accept your offer," Alexei repeated, "I’ll take over Nikiforov Corps.” 

Andrei threw his head back and laughed, “finally you’ve come to your senses. Indeed this is an occasion worthy of celebration.” 

“Thank you,” Alexei’s sliver lashes fluttered. 

“I’ll order the best wine from here,” Andrei pointed to the third item on the menu for the host. 

* * *

Through the white sterile labyrinth, and down three floors, the door to the central command gave way.

“Alexei,” a stern man with thick glasses acknowledged Victor. 

Before he could turn, Seung-gil knocked the wind out of him, “His name is Dr. Y,” he stood over the limp man on the ground, “he was the worst, he used to punish us while Andrei Nikiforov watched.” 

Victor recovered from the shock of Seung-gil’s sheer strength, remember the day they fought in the arena at the Nightshade headquarters. 

They stopped before a thick metal door with a pin pad. After the green light flickered, recognizing his features, he dialed the numbers 1136. The inside resembled mission control of a spaceship. 

Seung-gil hovered before the nearest screen as eerie blue-violet light glowed under his fingertips, detecting his motion. With razor sharp focus, his fingers flew across the keyboard as Victor stood behind him, a gun in his hands, and eyes transfixed to the door. 

“It’s done, I installed the virus into the defense system of this complex, the self-destruct protocol should no longer function,” Seung-gil grinned. The screen flashed in bold blue letters: **LUCKY NUMBER ELEVEN.**  

Victor patted him on the shoulder.  _ I wonder how long Alexei had been planning this operation. No wonder he needed the right players to make everything work. He figured out everything down to the last detail. His, I mean our, sixteen-year-old cousin programmed the virus.  _

The floor beneath them shook as the room with the remotes crumbled. 

Sirens flashed red light throughout the room, as the automated announcements of a woman’s voice repeated, “active lockdown protocol.”  

“Now, would you like to do the honors?” Seung-gil pressed a few more buttons and a single green line appeared on the screen. He hit the Enter key.

“Code eleven,” the line on the screen undulated with the pitch of Victor’s voice. 

“Now let’s get out of here,” Seung-gil followed him to the door. 

They ran past glass windows of a cafeteria, where the soldiers Andrei created congregated, beginning to fight the guards. 

_ Alexei must’ve planted confidants through the facility that spread the words of this plan. _ Victor sprinted to the light. The raucous siren with flashes of red light following them.       

Victor led Seung-gil outside of the complex from the side entrance without guards. 

Alexei didn’t want the complex to self-destruct, taking all of the lives within with it. 

_ Even if I still can’t completely forgive you for everything you did to Yuuri, I am proud of you,  _ Victor whispered in silence, _my brother._  

Catching his breath, Seung-gil unzipped the black backpack once again as they paused by the pier where the rest of the Nightshade waited. His grip closed around a signal flare, and a single red star lit the violet painted sky. 

Within minutes, helicopters from Phichit’s Secret Services swooped in. 

* * *

Alexei picked up a fork, the salad in front of him decorated with five types of edible flowers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Seung-gil’s signal from the lab’s direction.

Andrei’s expression didn’t change. 

Alexei knew, his viper of a father detected something suspicious. 

“Look at the sunset, isn’t it beautiful?” Andrei slid the chair back and gestured towards the edge of the rooftop terrace. 

“It is,” Alexei’s starlight locks fluttered in the wind, shutting his eyes as the October wind with the first hint of coolness caressed his cheeks. 

On the tallest building overlooking the oceanside city, beneath the fiery clouds, Alexei turned and faced his father and smirked. 

Andrei’s face twisted with cold rage as he reached for inside lining of the grey suit. 

No words needed to be exchanged between them. 

“You really think I came alone today?” Andrei taunted, pointing the barrel of the gun at his son, “I knew you were plotting something, for a long time. I pretended not to notice. To wait for you to swell with pride thinking you could outsmart me.”

Alexei’s smirk persisted, enjoying the strong emotions he evoked, “I didn’t come alone today either. The Nightshade came with me.” 

Sounds of shots fired in the background startled a flock of pigeons into flight. 

Andrei snarled. 

Alexei smiled as he fell backward from the roof as his father’s bullets pierced his shoulders and chest. 

He knew: they won.  

Approaching helicopters sent his silver locks flying. 

Andrei Nikiforov gasped, his grip tight on the trigger, as half of Phichit’s secret service closed in from every direction. He winced as another two shots fired through his back.  

Alexei caught a glimpse of a flash of red hair in the direction behind his father. 

_Mila never left after all. An eye for an eye_ , she’d say. She knew he didn’t want his father dead, but to be tried for his crimes.   

Ignoring the pain, Alexei shut his eyes, thinking of Yuri, imagining him finishing high school, going to the top University in the country on scholarship. His eyes stung. The image of Mila flashed before his eyes, clad in a plain yet expensive coat and sunglasses heading for a beach somewhere. He transferred a small fraction of his money into her account, enough that she didn’t need to work for another day in her life. He made her promise to quit leave the mercenary world, just as Yuuri promised Victor.   

Unbeknownst to him, agent Eleven made his twin brother another promise.  

As he braced for his fall off the building and waited for the cold concrete and the darkness, a hand caught his wrist and refused to let go. 

The pain and warmth from his shoulders soaked his tuxedo. 

Yuuri. 

He gasped. 

“I promised Victor I would never kill again,” Yuuri reached for his forearm and heaved him back over the edge, “as much as perhaps a part of me wanted to watch you fall, I have a feeling Victor will be sad knowing the I could’ve saved your life.” 

Alexei’s vision blurred as he fell against Yuuri's chest. 

“I know you didn’t intend to kill me when you had me captured. You are too smart, too cautious to give me that pen, and too proud to release me on your own,” Yuuri held him. 

Alexei nodded, “now I understand the reason my brother is -” he didn’t finish. 

* * *

“May I ask what is your relationship with the patient?” the ICU doctor with long brown hair in a neat bun and violet eyes who appeared no more than thirty stepped out of the semi-private room with pale off-white curtains.

“You can probably tell,” Victor stepped closer. 

“I’m his cousin,” Yuri interjected, “he’s also a doctor.”   

“I see. My name is Dr. Crispino,” she studied Victor’s face, “he has been stabilized after multiple units of transfusion, but as you probably already know he has aplastic anemia-”

“I know, test me, there’s a high likelihood that I’ll be his match for a bone marrow transplant,” Victor spoke without hesitation. 

In the background, Alexei’s chest rose and fell in sync with the rhythm of the ventilator. 

“Alright, let me make a few phone calls,” Sara stepped aside with her phone and dialed. 

* * *

Yuri never left his cousin’s bedside, despite the advice of the nurses to take care of himself and go home and sleep. He woke with his head by Alexei’s hand.

He unzipped the leopard print backpack with metal studs for his travel-sized toothbrush. He stood and glanced at the monitor with Alexei’s vitals. Blood pressure 95/60, heart rate 105, O2 saturation 96%, he searched for the IV bag with the name of medications to maintain blood pressure for patients who could not on their own. 

He couldn’t find any. 

“Excuse me,” he approached the nearest nurse, “is he off pressors?” 

The smiled at him, “he is. Though still in critical condition, he did well overnight. We are going to turn down the sedation this morning to see if we can attempt to take out the breathing tube.” 

“Thank you very much,” Yuri sped up his steps to the restroom down the sterile hallway of the hospital. 

After he brushed his teeth, he almost ran into a stunning woman with brilliant red hair. 

Their eyes met. 

“I’ve seen you with Alexei before,” crossing his arms, “are you his girlfriend,” Yuri cut to the chase. 

Mila let out a short melodic laugh and shook her head, “I used to work for him. I’m a friend, I guess you could say that.” 

“He’s doing better today,” Yuri pushed the double door leading into the ICU, “let’s go.” 

* * *

Alexei woke up in a hospital bed by the window. A blur of red and gold appeared before his eyes. Night had fallen, the curtains still left open.

“Alexei!” Yuri leaped from the chair, pulling him into a hug. 

Alexei’s parched lips parted as Mila stood across the room. He patted Yuri on the back, “you never went to the airport.” 

Mila shook her head and wiped her eyes, and wrapped her arms around Yuri and Alexei, “I couldn’t, knowing your diagnosis, even if your father didn’t kill you,” her voice broke, “you set me free from the mercenary world, and I want you to live the way you want for the rest -” her shoulders shuddered. 

Yuri couldn’t speak either. 

Then a pair of footsteps approached the hospital room lit only by moonlight. 

From Yuri’s shoulders, Alexei looked up. 

  
Two pairs of identical blue-green eyes met for the first time. 

“I can’t lose you, Alexei, you are like a brother to me -” Yuri sobbed. 

“Victor,” Alexei patted Yuri on the shoulders. 

“You won’t,” Victor smile determined, in his arms a bouquet of blue hydrangea. 

Yuri’s emerald eyes widened. 

“He’ll need a bone marrow transplant, and I’m a match,” Victor stood by his brother’s bedside. 

Alexei covered his eyes with a hand. 

Mila headed out of the room to get water as Yuuri joined them with a half-filled white vase in his hand.  

* * *

**Author’s note:**

Hope you enjoyed this rollercoaster of a chapter! It’s been a long journey and this is the happy ending I have been waiting for a long time to write.

Did I mention I love Alexei? He is my all-time favorite character to write. He had taken a life of his own through this process and I am proud of him.  

Epilogue to follow.  

  
  



	11. Epilogue

“A postcard, for me?” Yuuri’s voice puzzled because the few numbers of people how knew him.

He took Victor’s briefcase. 

Victor unraveled his navy scarf, “here.” 

Yuuri froze.

The castle on the background matched the image that he drew in the sketchbook over and over. He turned over the card with a stamp with Japanese characters. The writing on the back resembled Victor’s:

**Dear Yuuri,**

**I’m not sure what I could do to make things up to you. But I found your file and the address this from is where your real family lives. They own the onsen I am staying at. I didn’t tell them you are alive, because it’s not my place. But if you are ever ready, this is where they are. Your childhood photos are on the walls. I’ll be staying here for another week or so, and tell my brother I said hello.**

**-A.**

Yuuri almost dropped the card, shaking a little, “Alexei.” 

Victor gripped Yuuri’s elbows, “well?” 

“Let’s go,” Yuuri pulled him into a warm embrace. 

Victor stroked his back. 

* * *

They stopped in front of the onsen. Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hand, noticing he had been uneasy.

Not many things made former Agent Eleven look that way. 

Hiroko greeted them with a wide grin. Victor’s eyes darted between her and Yuuri, the resemblance uncanny. Her husband, with round glasses and a distinct laugh, carried their suitcases inside. 

They changed into the green robes of the onsen and settled into a room with a leading to a private hot spring. 

They sat leaning against each other, watching the fireflies like lost stars. 

Victor wrapped an arm around him, they didn’t need words anymore. _This is where he grew up, but h_ __e_ doesn’t remember any of it.  _ Victor ached. 

One week passed, as they explored Hasetsu, Yuuri couldn’t help but fall in love with the small coastal city. They strolled along the ocean, greeting the middle-aged man fishing early in the morning. Yuuri sketched the ninja house under a tree, the same one from his distant memories. 

Victor held him without words. 

* * *

 

Mari, the woman in her mid-thirties, with a high ponytail approached Yuuri one day in the courtyard, “you know, if you don’t mind me saying this, you remind me of someone.”

Yuuri stopped in his tracks. 

“Maybe it’s my strange de Ja Vu, forget it,” the light from her cigarette flickered in the dying sun. 

“No, tell me more,” Yuuri settled across from her on a stone stool next to the table. 

“My younger brother,” she flicked the ashes, sending orange sparks into the darkness of the ground. 

“What’s he like?” 

“He was smart,” Mari hugged one knee against her chest, “incredibly smart, the top of his school smart, and athletic too, and he loved skating. And he had this birthmark on the inner side of his elbow that’s shaped like a leaf that he’s proud of.” 

“What’s he doing now?” Yuuri’s heart pounded against his chest. Pain gnawed at him from within. All week he had been gathering the courage.

“He went missing at the age of eight,” Mari exhaled with pursed lips sending a ring of smoke. 

“‘I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too, I don’t mean to impose this on you,” Mari rested her leg onto the ground. 

“Mari, the truth is,” Yuuri could hardly speak. He rolled up his left sleeve revealing his birthmark shaped like a leaf that Victor often kissed. 

The cigarette stump fell out of her hand. 

“Mom, dad!” Mari cried in joy, unable to contain her tears, as she pulled him into her arms, “Yuuri!”      

* * *

Phichit almost stopped in midsentence from his own criminology lecture before the projector when he caught a glimpse of Seung-gil sitting down at the back in a dark red college football jacket.

Watching his reaction, Seung-gil shuddered in silent laughter. 

Phichit glared at him and completed the last fifteen minutes of the lecture. Gathering his notes, he waited for the last student who asked him a question to leave. 

Seung-gil applauded as he descended the stairs of the emptying lecture theatre, “excellent lecture, Professor Chulanout.” 

“I can’t tell if you are making fun of me or actually giving me a compliment,” Phichit couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, “you look so different dressed like this, I’m not sure if I can get used to it.”  _ I am used to the darkly clad mafia boss Seung-gil Lee who only had one expression.  _

“I wanted to sneak in here to see you,” Seung-gil scratched his head, “and I figure a football jacket and these glasses would me make me fit right in. He adjusted the dark rimmed spectacles. 

Phichit packed his laptop as the last of the University students left, “I can’t wait to see Yuuri’s coffee shop. Took him a long time to come up with a name, and in the end, he chooses the one I came up with.” 

Seung-gil raised a dark eyebrow.

They took the subway across the city. 

Hands interlaced, they stopped by the old part of the city unknown to the tourist.

Seung-gil gasped when they stopped by the middle of a stretch of one story stores lined by red bricks. In the flower box tufts of lavender blossomed. Overhead, written in elegant letters was the name of Seung-gil’s dog and best friend: Hana's. 

“I liked the name Phichit came up with the best,” Yuuri grinned opening the glass door. 

“I’m honored,” Seung-gil smiled, still at loss for words. 

“We all have to agree that Hana is the bravest of us all,” Phichit squeezed Seung-gil’s hand, “she led me to the kitchen under the nose of the entire Nightshade mafia, she scaled a building with you, she survived kidnapping by Alexei Nikiforov, need I say more?” 

Seung-gil shook his head and laughed. 

“It’s been a year, Seung-gil, never thought I’d see you like this, Yuuri pulled two off-white mugs from the upper shelf, “I always thought you were an ice cube.” 

“I thought I was too,” Seung-gil settled on the stool next to the counter, as Yuuri started the cappuccino machine.   

“How is everyone?” Yuuri meant the former soldiers like himself and Seung-gil that they freed from the Nikiforov lab. 

“Good,” Seung-gil removed the glasses he didn't need. Since their mission which shut down the Nikiforov lab, Seung-gil joined the branch of secret services which took charge of transitioning the prisoners they rescued into having normal lives, “great actually.” 

“I’m glad,” Yuuri served them a latte each with Makkachin’s face in the foam. 

“Yuuri that’s amazing!” Phichit exclaimed, “I almost don’t want to drink it.” 

“Thank you,” Yuuri sat across from them and propped his chin with a hand. 

Something gleaming on Phichit’s fourth finger as he lifted the cup. 

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you two were -” Yuuri pouted. 

Phichit’s face burnt. 

“I asked him last week,” Seung-gil finished his sentence.

“Congratulations!” Yuuri walked around the counter in his dark violet apron to embrace his best friend. 

“Thank you,” Phichit hugged him back.    

* * *

“Look, my new whitecoat arrived,” Victor grinned.

Yuuri couldn’t stop smiling, because in neat blue stitched by the breast pocket was the name: Victor F. Katsuki.

“Hey Yuuri,” Victor blushed, “remember the first time we were, well, together, when I was still a med student and how we woke up in a pile of my flash cards?”

“Yea, how could I forget?” Yuuri chuckled. 

“Why did you laugh when you read the word ‘contraindications’?” Victor unbuttoned the new white coat and threaded an arm into its crisp sleeve. 

“Oh that,” Yuuri chuckled, “in the medical world that word means things that are not meant to be used together, I thought of myself and happiness as being contraindicated.” 

Victor raised an eyebrow, “that is a strange way of using that word.” 

“But you proved me wrong,” Yuuri smiled.

* * *

**Author’s Note:**

Thank you for coming along with me for this journey. 

The original idea for this story stemmed from the title [Five Four Three Two One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741396/chapters/34079843). I knew I wanted to write a one-shot with that title, and at the time I had no idea what that story would be about. 

It ended up becoming a story about heroes who dreams of becoming ordinary. 

To [sleepyfortress](https://sleepyfortress.tumblr.com/): thank you for the amazing art!

To the mods of [llybb](https://liveloveyoibang.tumblr.com/) for taking time out of your busy lives to run this event and for the discord server. 

To [paint with words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_with_words/pseuds/PaintingWithWords) for her support, when I wasn’t sure if I was going to finish, you kept me going. 

Much love,

-Antares    

P.S. The next two pieces I will be writing are for an AU zine: [Isekai](https://isekaiyoizine.tumblr.com/). I hope you'll support us!  

P.P.S. I love Alexei, he is my personal character that I have created (ever). Do you want an extra chapter? I'm tempted. 

[Tumblr](https://antarespromise.tumblr.com/)


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